m    :   mi 


J7. 


THE   SOURCE    OF   ART   IS    THE  SENTIMENT    OF  FORM." 


ACTING 


ORATORY; 


DESIGNED    FOR 


PUBLIC    SPEAKERS,    TEACHERS,    ACTORS,    ETC. 


J.    E.    FROBISHER, 

DIRECTOR   OF   THE   COLLEGE    OF    ORATORY    AND   ACTING   OF    NEW   YORK  ;    AUTHOR   OF 

''  VOICE  AND  ACTION,"   "  BLOOD  AND   BREATH,"    "  POPULAR   RECITALS," 

"SERIAL   READINGS,"    ETC. 


WITH     ILLUSTRATIONS 


'The  ORATOR  should  have  — 
The  VOICE  of  the  TRAGEDIAN, 
The  GRACE  of  the  POSTURER, 
The  MIND  of  the  PHILOSOPHER." 


NEW    YORK  : 
COLLEGE    OF    ORATORY    AND    ACTING. 

1879. 


COPYRIGHT,  1879,  BY  J.  E.  FROEISHER. 


PREFACE. 


PRIOR  to  the  publication  of  Voice  and  Action,  and  several 
lesser  works  since  issued,  the  material  of  the  following 
pages  had  been  accreting  in  a  mass  of  both  original  and  selected 
MS.  notes.  These  observations  on  Acting  and  Oratory  were 
originally  intended  more  particularly  for  personal  use,  but  an  in- 
creasing frequency  of  reference,  by  way  of  assistance  to  pupils, 
has  seemed  to  necessitate  their  arrangement  in  a  more  concise 
and  available  form. 

Considering  the  present  effort  as  rather  eclectic  in  its  char- 
acter, embracing  as  it  does  such  variety  of  purpose  and  research, 
one  can  readily  allow  for  the  diversity  of  styles,  even  in  differ- 
ent sections,  and  perhaps  its  sometimes  apparently  contradic- 
tory opinions,  and  illogical  arrangement. 

The  intention  has  been  to  begin  with  the  simpler  and  more 
practical  ideas  of  the  topics  treated,  and  progressively  advance 
to  the  higher  and  more  aesthetic  of  each  division. 

It  is  sincerely  hoped,  with  this  premise  the  method  may  not 
be  too  harshly  blamed,  and  the  matter  none  the  less  enjoyed. 

Special  acknowledgments  are  due  to  Rev.  WM.  R.  ALGER 
for  personal  permission  to  make  extracts  from  his  "  Life  of  Ed- 
win Forrest,"  also  grateful  thanks  to  Messrs.  HOUGHTON,  OS- 
GOOD  &  Co.,  for  hints  from  Gould's  Tragedian,  Messrs.  W.  A. 
POND  &  Co.,  for  use  of  SIEBER'S  "Art  of  Singing,"  SCRIBNEK, 


1312876 


6  PREFA  CE. 

ARMSTRONG  &  Co.,  for  extracts  from  MC!LVAINE'S  "Elocution;" 
and  SEILER'S  "  Voice  in  Singing,''  by  LIPPINCOTT  &  Co. 

In  conclusion,  it  must  be  remembered  that  this  work,  even 
in  its  fullness,  can,  at  its  best,  be  merely  suggestive  ;  but  if  it 
should  prove  another  means  of  encouraging  studious  thought  in 
the  direction  implied  by  its  title,  the  hope  excited  by  its  publi- 
cation will  have  been  fully  answered. 

J.  E.  FEOBISHER. 
COLLEGE  OF  ORATORY  AND  ACTING. 
New  York,  June,  1879. 


NOTE. — During  the  construction  of  the  present  work  a  number  have 
asked  why  it  was  not  called  ORATORY  and  ACTING  and  precedence  given 
in  its  title  to  Oratory  instead  of  Acting. 

The  brief  answer  to  all  who  might  similarly  question  would  be  that  a 
good  orator  needs  precisely  the  same  requisites  that  are  claimed  for  a  good 
actor,  and  that  Acting  ought  to  be  considered  as  really  the  foundation  of 
Oratory. 

Without  prolonged  discussion  in  a  limited  preface  page  it  might  be 
added  that  Demosthenes,  the  Father  of  Orators,  was  instructed  by  ati 
actor  ;  Garrick  taught  clergymen  the  reading  of  the  Liturgy  ;  Mrs.  Sid- 
dons,  by  her  wondrous  acting,  taught  the  best  Orators  of  the  age  ;  the  elder 
Booth  redd  the  Lord's  Prayer  to  clergymen  who  declared,  while  weeping, 
they  had  never  heard  it  before ;  Talma  instructed  Napoleon,  in  the  man- 
ner of  giving  audience  as  an  emperor.  A  whole  chapter  might  be  written 
and  not  exhaust  the  claims  of  Acting  as  the  basis  of  the  nobler  art  of 
Oratory.  J.  E.  F. 


CO^TElsTTS. 


PART    FIRST. 

PAGE 

INSTRUCTION. — The  Teacher — Principles — Culture  under  Supervision 
— False  Training — Mind — Forced  Instruction — Romance — Transi- 
tion— Cast-iron  Rules — Inner  Meaning — Art  without  System — Pre- 
scribed Rules — Natural  Orators — Premature  Feats — Voice  Index 
— Different  Voices 11 

TEACHING  THE  YOUNG.  —  Vocal   Habits  —  Common   Prattle — Faults 

Avoided — Self-Culture — Copying,  Imitation 14 

PRACTICAL. — Breathing — "  Coup  de  la,  glotte  " — Laying  Hold 18 

ARTICULATION. — Small  Words — Thin,  Deliberate,  Powerful  Articu- 
lation   20 

PURE  TONE. — Noise,  Musical  Sounds — Depth,  of  Voice — Tenor  Voice.     20 

FORCE. — Lablache — Amount  of  Air — Eagle — Actors  and  Clergymen — 
Management  of  Voice — Weak  Voice — Vocal  Compass,  Strength, 
Flexibility,  Command,  Drawling — Magnificent  Chest — The  An- 
cients   22 

PITCH. — Rapid  Pronunciation — Walking,  Running  Measure — Musical 
Intervals — Middle,  High,  Low  Notes — Intonation — Tremor. ....  24 

TIME. — Pauses — Suspensive  Quantity — Mechanical  Dexterity 26 

EMPHASIS. — Expression — Shades  of  Voice — New  Paragraph — Drift — 

Special  Effects — Degree — Monotony — The  Indians 27 

GESTURE. —  Manifestation  —  Motionless  —  Affectation  —  Pulpit,  Bar, 

Stage 30 

DR.  RUSK. — General  Hints — Audience — Three  Things— Manner — Va- 
riety—  Adjustment —  Well  Started — Meditation — Truth — Excite- 
ment— Beginners — Habits — Food — Cicero — Quintillian 31 

GENERAL  HABITS. — Tone,  Gesture,  Attitude— Confidence — Conceit — 

Preparation — Nervousness — Audience  listen. . .  .^ 44 

PRACTICAL  SUGGESTIVE.  — Dexterities — To  See — Teach  Oneself — Free- 


8  CONTENTS. 

FAGS 

dom,  Error— Circle — Agony,  Science — Without  Effort — Duty  to 
be  Happy — Reserved  Power — Dilettanti — Modern  Italians — De- 
tails   50 

RHYTHM. — Measurement — Grecian  Ear — Shakespeare,  Miltoii — Pulse, 
Swearing — Animals — The  Heart,  Watches — Indians — Jugglers — 
Metre  —  Speech  —  Breathing  —  Verse,  Scanning  —  Examples — 
Poetry,  The  Bible 69 

PART    SECOND. 

EXERCISE,  HEALTH. — Inaction — Sound  Constitution — Moods— Athena 
—Vexation 79 

FOOD,  CONDITION. — Habits — Fat — Out-door  Life — Wilberforce,  Bux- 

ton — Recreation — Day-time  Sleep — Bathing 80 

SUNLIGHT. — Rooms — Po  wer — Beauty — Massage — Spontaneous  Force 

— Muscles — Vitality — Endurance — Exercise,  Drill 82 

.^ESTHETIC  GYMNASTICS. — Olympic  Games — The  Weakling — Unhappy 

Temper— Peel,  Bright,  etc.— Mental  Effort 86 

THE  ATTENTION. — Brain  Power — Pure  Air — Mutation — Change    of 

Scene — Memory — Stupidity —Races 88 

STUDY,  MEDITATION. — Enterprise,  Conceit 93 

MENTAL  MOODS. — The  Lungs — The  Atmosphere — Mountains — Dys- 
pepsia— Cognitions 95 

APOTHEGMS. —  Order 97 

TASTE.— Genius,  Talent 109 

REFLECTION,  INTUITION. — Form,  Creative — ^Esthetics — Sensibility — 

Unreality,  Reality — Camoens 112 

IMAGINATION. — Perceptions — Cultivated — Business  Man — Right  Eth- 
ics— Stretching  the  Mind — Infinity — Conjecture — Thought,  Feel- 
ing, Will .  119 

BEAUTY. — The  True  Artist — Soul  and  Sense — Traditions — Mannerism 
— The  Drama — Dante,  Tasso  —  Aglae — Thetis — Ocean — Law — 
Symmetrical,  Picturesque — The  Voice — Words  all  Colors 127 

SUBLIMITY. —  Terror — Candor — The  Unknown — The  Theatre — Fan- 
tastical Reality — The  Eye — The  Laugh — Grandeur — Uniformity 
— Vast,  Rugged,  Gloomy — Magnitude 135 

NATURE. — Sculpture — Design — Transfiguration — Great  Things  done 
easily — Effort,  Power — Iron  Bars — Scholastic  Stiffness — Waves. 
Ripples 139 


CONTENTS.  9 

PAGE 

GENIUS. —  Reserve  —  Creative  —  Absolute — Superficial  —  Imitation — 
Deep  Emotion — Little  Geniuses — Mere  Method  —  What  a  Man 
does — Aspiration,  Inspiration — Will,  Study — Tempestuous  Pas- 
sions   143 

PART    THIRD. 

THEATRE  FRANCAIS. — Its  Method — Voice  Training — Racine — Mad- 
ame Talma — Rachel 146 

ACTING — SAMSON. — Talma's  Advice — Translation — '  Mis-en-scene  ' — 

Rachel  at  Sixteen — Quarrels 161 

ACTING — TALMA. — Sketch — Acting  —  The  Passions — Society — Sensi- 
bility, Imagination,  Intelligence — Le  Kain — Meditation — Climax  169 

ORATORS. —  Demosthenes  —  Cicero  —  Gracchus — Cato  —  Pericles  —  St. 
Paul — Spurgeon — Pitt — Mitts — Webster — Clay — Lacordaire 174 

ACTORS. — Eoscius  —  Betterton,  (Acting)  —  Gibber  —  Barton  Booth — 
Wilkes — Barry — Betterton —  Talma — Garrick — Elizabeth  Barry — 
Sarah  Siddons —Edmund  Kean  —  Mrs.  Jordan — The  elder  Booth 
—  Macready  —  Fechter  —  Salmni —  Janauschek — Mile.  Georges — 
Cunniberti — Baron — RacJiel — Ristori,  (Scribe,  etc.) — Forrest 182 

SINGERS. — Lablache — Parepa — Patti — Campanella 232 

ARTISTS,  ETC. — Angelo — Canova — Di  Vinci — Shakespeare,  etc 234 

LARGE  THEATRES. — Ideals — Kemble,  Cooke,  Kean 237 

PART    FOURTH. 

CRITICISM,  ANALYSIS. — See — Listen — Study — Observation — Vivid  En- 
joyments— Perfection — The  Senses — Faults  and  Beauties — Stand- 
ard— Mediocrity — Defects,  Qualities — The  Mass — Feelings,  Princi- 
ples— Public  Opinion — Competent  Judges — The  Stage — Justice — 
Fal?e  Delicacy  —  Independence — Amiable  Critics — Cynics — Fal- 
coners— Red — Contempt 248 

PREJUDICE. — Great  Debuts — Readings — Acting — Stars — Stock  Acting 
Debutantes.. 262 

H  A  Li/8,  ETC. — Habit — Lungs — Echoes — Heat —  Wires 264 

THE  VOICE. — Muscles — Voice  made,  forced,  worn  out — Colds,  Cures, 

etc. — Laryngitis — Catarrh — Tonsils — Constipation — Headache.. . .  264 

NIGHT- AIR. — Toilet  for  Stage,  etc. — Sleeplessness — Somnambulism.. , .  265 
AMUSEMENT. — Smoking — Insanity,  Lunacy — Abstraction — Lady  Mac- 
beth   272 

APPLAUSE. — Simplicity — Laughter — Piano  Duel 276 


10  CONTEXTS. 

PACK 

THE  HAIR,  COSTUME.— Faces — Hair— Mustache— Forehead — Xose— 
Flowers — Feathers 280 

COSTUME.  —  Check  —  Stripes  —  Unity  —  Dignity—  Style— Drapery- 
Shoes— Colors— Blonde— Brunette  282 

DECORATIONS. — Colors — Costumes — Scenes 285 

THE  PASSIONS. — Active,  Passive — Passion,  Affection 286 

THE  TEMPERAMENTS. — Athletic — Sanguine — Lymphatic— Nervous— 
Bilious— Emotional— Pleasure,  Pain— Excitable  Persons— Joy— 
Grief— Anger— Fear 287 

EMOTION. — Discipline — Styles— Intensity 295 

ACTING  OF  THE  PASSIONS.  — Intoxication — Laughter — Suffocation — 
Fainting — Death 297 

UXIMPASSIONED  ACTING. — Exclamatory 300 

PART    FIFTH. 

ACTING. — Conception — Face,  Body,  Voice — Copying — Authors — Aaron 
Hill — Mrs.  Cibber — Aerial  Element — Training — Work — Angelo — 
Interpretation — German  Theatres — Symbolical,  Mimetic 303 

FROM  ALGER'S  FORREST. — Great  Ones — Atlantean — Self-Possession — 
Sympathetic  Voice — Conventional — Suppression  —  Impersonal — 
Colossal — The  JEsthetic  Theatre — The  Actor's  Career — Charity — 
The  True  Actor — Humility — Society — Leisure — Solitude — Psyche 
— Petty  Interests — Leading  Idea — Imperfect  Intuition  —  Ease. 
Extended  Base — '  Soul  of  the  Violin ' — Sobbing — Blushing — Re- 
ality— Tenderness — High  Mellow  Note — Bodily  Exercise — Visible 
Manifestations,  Invisible  Movements — Impetuosity —  '  Creating ' 
Characters — Tragedy  and  Comedy — Finesse — Torture — Faces  of 
Actors 309 

DELSARTE. — Synopsis  of  System 353 

FAILURE  IN  ACTING.  —  Perfection — Rubens'  Martyrs — Gusto — Popu- 
larity—  The  Hands — Conventional  Acting — From  Alger's  Forrest  354 

SCHOOLS  OP  ACTING. — Romantic — Sensational — Melodramatic — Clas- 
sic— Natural — Artistic.  The  Active  Sublime — The  Passive  Sub- 
lime— The  Beautiful— The  Vivid— Stimulants — Realistic  Acting 
— Authors  and  Plays — Acting  Women — Dramatic  Screams — Dis- 
sipation— Age  of  Actors — Day  of  Performance— Stage  Fright — 
Good  Words  from  Goethe— Rehearsals— Rules  of  Life 377 

(JoKiiiK.— The  Dramatic  Instinct  .  .  405 


ACTING  AND  ORATORY. 


PART   I. 


INSTRUCTION. 

HE  business  of  life  is  to  learn ;  pride  resents  the  offer  to 
teach,  indolence  declines  it. 

The  teacher  opens  the  mind,  shortens  study,  gives  result,  in 
brief,  of  years  of  toil ;  shows  how  to  progress  more  rapidly  ; 
opens  the  way  to  recognize  nature,  and  to  use  the  faculties  she 
has  given  ;  to  admire  and  enter  into  principles  that  might 
otherwise  prove  unpalatable. 

Principles  save  labor  and  trials  to  those  who  might  ultimately 
get  along  and.never  usje  them.  To  admire  on  them  is  the  only 
way  to  imitate  without  loss  of  originality. 

The  road  to  art  is  long,  and  made  so  by  mistakes  and  the 
difficulty  of  analyzing  things  addressed  to  the  taste  and  feelings. 
Nature  uninstructed  degenerates.  When  culture  is  not  under 
strict,  artistic  supervision  there  results  a  painful,  uncertain,  un- 
satisfactory effort.  It  makes  one  less  sympathizing,  less  capable 
of  enjoyment  from  effort  of  others,  and  narrows  down  the  art 
because  one-sided. 

Vanity  comes  from  false  training  ;  it  is  empty,  loose,  negli- 
gent, mannered,  artificial,  fantastic  ;  a  sensual  vagueness.  In- 
terest and  passion  beget  no  fruit ;  a  monotonous  circle  ;  ineffec- 
tual activity.  It  is  the  destruction  of  ideality  because  not 
through  artistic  ideas  but  through  pathological  reality.  It 
should  be  the  love  of  truth,  the  hate  of  falsity  and  pretence  ; 
and  to  build  up  by  character  and  force. 


12  ACTI.\<i    -I.V7)    ORATORY. 

It  must  be  mind  to  have  permanent  delight,  for  with  a  true 
taste  nature  returns  after  culture.  We  go  back  to  nature 
through  her  laws,  and  power  returns  with  increase. 

Forced  instruction  is  ineffectual.  Few  have  been  taught  to 
any  purpose  who  have  not  been,  in  great  part,  their  own  teachers. 

Those  instructions  are  best  which  are  given  through  affection 
to  the  instructor,  for  then,  the  mind  is  more  open  to  receive 
them.  Youth  desires  an  overflowing  heart,  daring  thoughts, 
and  speedy  deeds.  Instruction  must  be  blended  with  romance, 
imagination  and  reality,  but  not  to  so  great  a  degree  as  to  dis- 
turb the  ground  tone  of  truth,  for  excess  stupefies.  Younger 
pupils  are  oftenest  best  taught  by  those  who  are  a  degree  ad- 
vanced above  them,  and  in  classes. 

During  the  period  of  transition  the  voice  must  be  exercised 
very  moderately,  or  given  up  entirely.  The  same  caution  must 
be  used  in  singing,  which  is  identical  with  speaking.  It  must 
be  perfect  control  over  vocal  organs  before  one  can  attain  to 
excellence.  But  method  must  be  flexible,  not  cast  iron,  rules, 
or  it  ceases  to  be  a  means  to  become  an  end,  and  is  a  hindrance. 
One  who  forgets  its  inner  meaning  becomes  its  slave,  and  shows 
a  narrowness  of  mind  unfitted  for  comprehensive  purposes.  An 
intelligent  method  which  remembers  what  is  to  be  attained  is  a 
most  powerful  instrument;  and  it  matters  not. how  clever  or 
brilliant,  but  art  without  system  will  sooner  or  later  come  to 
grief.  Regular  habits  once  attained  are  alone  a  fortune,  and 
they  grow  and  widen  of  themselves.  Yet  everything  executed 
by  prescribed  rules  will  at  first  be  formal,  stiff,  embarrassed  and 
precise.  The  rule  will  be  perpetually  present  to  the  mind  of  the 
student,  and  he  will,  perhaps,  be  awkward  and  confused,  and 
the  fear  of  making  constant  mistakes  will  render  him  more 
constrained  and  irresolute  than  if  he  were  to  give  way  to  his 
habitual  actions. 

A  young  man,  when  he  first  learns  to  dance,  moves  with  a 
solemnity  which  approaches  the  ridiculous  ;  but  this  solemnity 
in  time  wears  off.  The  habit  of  appearing  before  audiences  may 
make  a  man  bold,  but  between  grace  and  boldness  there  is  a  wide 
difference.  Mere  conventionality  in  any  art  seems  ridiculous 
contrasted  with  the  vast  conceptions  of  the  soul.  Instruction 


INSTRUCTION.  13 

means  to  first  discover  the  germs  of  artistic  susceptibility,  to 
remove  the  obstacles  to  their  growth,  'and  then  train  and  foster 
them.  The  aptness  will  be  commensurate  with  the  pleasure. 
It  should  not  be  to  subject  each  mind  to  the  same  rigid  external 
framework.  Such  uniformity  is  neither  desirable  nor  necessary. 
Yet  it  is  by  rule  what  others  do  by  hazard.  Sometimes  effects 
are  produced  accidentally,  from  a  person's  being  habituated  to 
that  which  he  attempts.  It  is  to  ascertain  and  methodize  the 
cause  of  his  success  so  as  to  insure  subsequent  efforts,  and  con- 
struct something  similar  to  an  art,  for  in  some  points  chance  and 
art  are  not  unlike.  The  so-called  natural  orators  have  become 
so  by  laborious  self-culture.  Even  the  natural  voice  guided  only 
by  instinct  always  gives  true  intervals,  but  the  desire  may  be  to 
reproduce  them  at  will.  And  an  artist  can  attain  a  much  more 
apparent  degree  of  perfection  without  theory,  than  a  theorist 
can  without  practice.  Perception  far  outruns  talent. 

Success  does  not  consist  of  premature,  showy  feats,  to  allure 
and  satisfy  the  mass.  It  means  right  direction,  with  self-trust 
as  its  first  secret  to  make  sure. 

Some  crystallize  at  a  certain  average  condition  from  want  of 
care  and  anxiety  of  development,  instead  of  ripening  slowly  and 
awaiting  the  formation  of  the  intellect  and  the  heart.  Ease  and 
speed  in  the  execution  seldom  give  a  work  any  lasting  import- 
ance or  exquisite  beauty.  Refined  is  intellectual,  spiritual ;  neat 
is  plain.  Elegant  is  not  ridiculously  fine  ;  polite  is  not  elabo- 
rate, hypercritical  refinement ;  tender  is  not  coaxing. 

Some  are  incapable,  from  coarseness  of  material,  of  real 
polish. 

The  voice  is  an  unerring  index  of  mind  and  character  ; 
Fine  voice,  refinement ;  coarse,  harsh  voice,  inferior  nature. 
The  good-natured  person  may  rebuke  ;  the  ill-natured  encour- 
age, but  the  voice  remains  the  same.  The  voice  may  be  culti- 
vated, but  assimilation  to  another's  will  prove  abortive.  The 
most  common  defects  to  be  overcome  are  weakness,  roughness, 
and  brokenness.  Weakness,  from  organs  not  powerful  enough  to 
send  out  sufficient  volume,  disappears  as  general  strength  is  in- 
creased. In  old  age  the  organs  shrink  and  the  key  is  raised. 
The  weakness  of  a  shrill  voice  is  a  real  misfortune  and  admits 


14  ACTlMf    A\D    ORATORY. 

of  little  remedy.  Coarseness  is  a  mental  fault  and  improves 
with  the  mind.  Thickness  is  generally  from  defect  in  organs  ; 
great  care  and  watchfulness  may  cure  it,  but  progress  is  not  easy 
or  rapid.  Brokenness,  either  high  or  low,  and  yet  neither,  is 
difficult  to  remedy.  To  speak  quickly  exaggerates  all  the  natu- 
ral defects  of  the  voice  ;  deliberation  rectifies  them. 

Generally  there  is  too  much  of  the  heavy  hollow  voice,  rigid 
movement,  primness  of  manner,  anxious  exactness.  It  should 
be  genial  culture,  wide  intercourse  with  mankind,  frank,  gen- 
erous. With  the  innate  faculties  of  a  dull,  unstirring  soul,  what- 
ever usefulness  she  may  have  latent  in  her,  yet  when  she  puts 
not  these  powers  into  action,  when  once  they  stagnate,  they  lose 
their  vigor  and  run  to  decay.  Thus  it  is  impossible  for  a  grov- 
elling genius  to  be  guilty  of  error  since  he  never  soars  but  con- 
tinues in  the  same  track,  while  its  very  height  exposes  the  sub- 
lime to  falls.  If,  however,  a  generous  and  noble  nature  be  not 
thoroughly  formed  by  discipline,  it  will  shoot  forth  many  bad 
qualities  along  with  the  good,  as  the  richest  soil  if  not  cultivated 
produces  the  rankest  weeds. 

Nothing  more  prevents  a  beginner  from  becoming  a  true 
artist,  than  the  excitement  produced  by  premature  elevation, 
which  gives  one  an  overweening  notion  of  present  acquirements 
and  renders  him  impatient  of  criticism. 

Sometimes  there  may  be  no  gleam  of  sense  and  feeling,  even 
uncouth  manner,  and  poverty  of  grace  and  refinement,  and  yet 
wonderful  inspiration. 

Children  and  the  Young. 

Teach  children  from  the  first  to  read  as  naturally  as  in 
familiar  talk.  Vocal  habits  are  easier  caught  by  children,  and 
unlearned  with  most  difficulty  by  men.  Young  people  think 
that  declamation  is  much  different  from  conversation  ;  it  is 
truth  only  that  is  available.  Young  orators  should  be  indulged 
a  little  to  encourage,  to  embolden ;  not  even  correct  them. 
Give  genius  full  scope  ;  discover  fertility.  Be  cautious  of  ui.<- 
couraging,  or  being  over  severe  ;  gentle  in  correcting  or  it  may 
create  aversion.  Consider  efforts  well  for  the  present.  Due 


CHILDREN  AND    TILE   YOUNG.  15 

praise  but  not  lavish.  Have  them  neither  discouraged,  nor  too 
secure.  Take  down  their  common  prattle,  or  equivalent,  and 
correct  it  and  they  will  soon  learn  that  reading  is  speaking  at 
sight ;  older  persons  just  as  if  their  own  sentiments,  line  by 
line,  keeping  the  attention  constantly  to  the  meaning.  The 
common  faults  of  declamation  can  often  be  avoided  by  encour- 
aging pupils  to  take  the  place  of  the  teacher  and  explain  some 
.interesting  topic  with  which  they  are  familiar.  Let  it  be  a 
description  in  plain,  simple  language,  of  something  they  have 
seen,  or  read  of.  "  Tell  us  about  it,"  should  be  the  form  of  in- 
vitation. Let  them  not  dream  they  are  '"'speaking  pieces." 
It  is  better  that  very  simple  narratives  should  be  attempted  at 
first.  If  necessary,  let  the  more  timid  ones  retain  their  seats  ; 
at  least  avoid  being  made  too  conspicuous.  A  natural  manner, 
the  use  of  original  language,  the  absence  of  all  the  accessories 
of  an  exhibition,  is  the  best  means  to  a  right  beginning.  Dec- 
lamation, in  the  ordinary  method,  makes  the  poorest  kind  of 
actors — merely  elocutionary  ;  but  talk,  insensibly  led,  step  by 
step,  to  assume  the  dignity  of  an  address  to  an  audience,  devel- 
ops natural  oratory. 

It  is  difficult  to  inculcate  rules  for  self-culture  upon  one 
whose  character  has  taken  a  certain  mould  of  development,  for 
character  is  slow  of  growth  and  cannot  be  suddenly  changed 
and  by  mere  reflection.  Will  is  like  speech,  it  must  be  learned. 
One  cannot  be  taught  volition  except  by  practice.  You  cannot 
talk  philosophy  to  one  whose  antecedent  life  has  been  without 
its  bound.  Time  and  systematic  exercise  are  necessary  to  the 
gradual  organization  of  the  structure  which  shall  manifest  it  in 
full  function.  No  one  can  resolve  by  a  mere  effort  of  the  will 
to  think  or  act  in  a  certain  way,  but  he  can  learn  to  withdraw 
his  mind  from  one  direction  and  turn  it  in  another  until  he 
grows  by  degrees  to  the  ideal  set  before  him. 

The  development  of  the  power  of  coordinating  ideas  and 
feelings  for  the  achievement  of  a  special  life-aim  is  the  develop- 
ment of  the  volitional  power  to  achieve  it.  Like  certain  com- 
plicated acts  by  the  muscles,  which  could  not  be  done  except 
by  previous  training.  So  can  the  thoughts  and  feelings  for  a 


16  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

definite  purpose  in  life,  be  rendered  habitually  obedient  to  the 
dictates  of  the  will  in  the  pursuit  of  its  ideal. 

A  person  can  without  much  real  mental  activity — almost 
automatically — carry  out  instinctively,  almost  unconsciously, 
"habits  well  acquired,  and  the  conduct  they  dictate  ;  his  knowl- 
edge and  action  have  become  the  automatic  work  of  nerve- 
centres  that  have  been  trained.  The  original  labor  of  acqui- 
sition has  cost  an  expenditure  of  mental  effort,  but  the  faculty- 
acquired,  it  demands  little  attention,  and  should  occasion  little 
fatigue.  The  thoughts  of  -many  run  in  a  groove  so  well  worn 
that  their  difficulty  is  to  get  out  of  it.  Real  application  to  such 
is  severe.  Genius  may  sometimes  need  the  spur,  but  most 
times  the  curb  ;  to  the  latter  frequent  respites  from  toil  are  the 
safety-valves. 

Insensibility  to  what  is  truly  great  is  the  bane  of  every  rising 
genius.  Merely  organic  pleasures  have  naturally  a  short  dura- 
tion ;  when  prolonged  they  lose  their  relish.  There  are  higher 
pleasures  that  depend  not  upon  system  and  yet  may  not  be  known 
without  the  light  of  art. 

There  are  some  so  dull  as  to  need  the  whip,  and  there  are 
the  fiery,  earnest,  zealous,  nervous  ones,  tremulous  as  the 
aspen  ;  enthusiasts,  who  need  to  economize  their  nerve-force 
or  they  will  exhaust  themselves.  Such  need  plenty  of  sleep  and 
recreation.  There  are  some  also  who  cannot  do  to  advantage 
unless  in  sacred  silence  and  uninterrupted. 

Real  progress  commences  when  the  inferior  perceives  in  the 
master  that  superiority  which  he  covets.  Copying  may  help 
his  practice,  but  it  cannot  give  the  aesthetic  roundness  and 
juiciness,  the  breadth,  and  expansion,  that  springs  alone  from 
within  himself.  If  he  have  not  these,  let  him  cultivate  such 
talent  as  he  has  in  its  natural  direction. 

A  beautiful  combination  in  nature  will  often  appear  to  evade 
every  rule.  Pleasure  to  all,  but  especially  to  those  producing 
the  same  effects,  but  to  others  a  sealed  book. 

The  unpracticed  eye  cannot  distinguish  the  qualities  or  de- 
fects of  a  painting,  nor  the  untutored  ear  the  combinations  of 


PEACTICAL    HINTS.  17 

harmony.  Undoubtedly  the  habitual  use  of  the  eye  and  the  ear 
is  sufficient,  in  many  cases,  to  enable  us  to  perceive  the  beauties 
of  painting,  music  or  oratory  ;  but  this  is  in  itself  an  education. 
There  is,  however,  a  great  difference  between  this  vague  feeling, 
which  has  no  other  origin  than  mere  sensations,  and  that  cer- 
tainty of  judgment  which  is  the  result  of  positive  knowledge. 
Every  art  has  its  principles,  which  we  must  study,  in  order  to 
increase  our  enjoyment,  while  we  are  forming  our  taste.  Those 
of  oratory  are  more  complex  than  those  of  painting  or  music, 
but  non-perception  of  form  despises  grace  in  eloquence. 

It  should  not  be  to  imitate  too  closely,  but  rather  sugges- 
tively ;  not  to  magnify  the  manner  beyond  the  just  demands 
of  the  matter.  The  voice  and  features  must  all  be  subject  to 
the  strictest  scrutiny.  No  second  thoughts,  no  retouches,  but 
the  right  key  at  once.  No  amount  of  practice  will  effect  this 
if  the  inner  natm'e  has  not  been  cultivated  to  the  point  where 
grace  becomes  instinctive,  and  passion  in  its  wildest  moods  sub- 
ordinate to  an  intuitive  controlling  taste.  But  what  is  easy  to 
one  may  be  awkward  to  another,  and  if  copied  will  seem  like 
affectation.  It  is  better  to  have  no  art  than  not  enough  to  con- 
ceal it.  It  is  to  correct  faults — to  be  no  one  else — and  have 
own,  natural  way.  It  is  to  excel  .nature  by  the  symmetrical, 
and  not  to  imitate  effects  without  investigating  causes.  ^Es- 
thetic culture.  True  genius  includes  intuitive  perception. 
€opying  is  delusive  industry.  Imitative  art  excites  to  satisfy, 
and  calls  forth  the  soul  to  strengthen  power.  Seek  within  and 
find  everything.  No  slavish  obedience  but  vary  even  from  self, 
if  need  be;  for,  however  careful  one  may  be  at  first,  still  by  fre- 
quent repetition  he  may  fall  into  a  mannerism,  as  is  often  the 
case  with  clergymen. 

Practical  Hints. 

Begin  piano,  very  staccato,  long  continued.  Careful  prac- 
tice will  broaden,  magnify,  make  larger  vibrations  of  the  voice. 
It  should  not  be  swollen,  torn,  sharp  ;  the  common  fault.  It 
should  be  the  sensation  of  whole  body  in  low  notes.  Natural 
voice  at  first.  A  certain  quantity.  Breathe  as  you  would  in 


18  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

talking,  and  renew  at  rests.  Hold  back,  not  crowd.  Speak 
lightly  until  pure  tone  and  then  fill  more  and  more.  Intlaie 
the  lungs  imperceptibly,  noiselessly,  slowly,  and  quietly.  Ex- 
pand the  sides  of  the  body,  not  raise  the  chest,  except  in  great 
passion. 

Rules  for  Breathing. 

1. — Beginning  of  phrase.  2. — Before  animated  expression. 
3. — Before  emphatic  syllable.  4. — Before  antithesis.  5. — 
Before  parentheses.  6. — After  radical  stress,  and  at  all  pauses. 

Sometimes  special  effects  are  demanded.  It  is  an  adrnntage 
to  take  breath  as  rarely  as  possible  for  some  effects.  To  over- 
fill the  lungs  fatigues  the  organs  and  injures  the  tones.  All  the 
breath  intoned,  not  aspirated.  Erect  position,  unconstrained, 
the  chest  a  little  projected,  the  body  a  little  drawn  in.  But  do 
not  aim  too  soon  to  have  the  voice  strong.  First  by  all  means 
pure.  Bring  the  voice  forward  and  let  it  rebound  and  vibrate 
from  the  front ;  speech  is  more  melodious  when  thus  formed. 
Have  the  voice  far-sounding,  penetrative,  less  strained.  Con- 
sider the  hejght  and  distance.  Each  vowel  gives  a  peculiar 
resonance  to  the  cavity  of  the  mouth,  but  one  should  make  sure 
to  avoid  the  singing  tone. 

Imperfect  breathing  impedes  all  the  functions  ;  it  is  the  test. 
Such  exercises  as  correct  this  are  not  to  be  considered  as  repul- 
sive drudgery.  Even  holding  the  breath  is  beneficial  ;  it  sends 
the  blood  to  the  brain,  and  gives  it  vigor.  Deep  breathing  is 
essential  to  deep  thinking. 

Success  in  this  or  any  art  depends  upon  being  consumed 
with  love  of  it,  and  restless  with  intensity  of  feeling  even  in  its 
elements. 

Expand  the  lungs  and  the  air  will  rush  into  and  distend 
them,  holding  the  chest  up  to  prevent  waste.  Keep  them  filled 
like  the  bagpipe,  till  done. 

A  sharp,  quick  opening  of  the  voice,  as  from  holding  in  the 
breath,  begets  great  beauty,  ease  and  distinctness.  "  Cou/i  </>; 
la  glotte''  in  an  excellent  means  of  purifying  and  strengthening 
the  tone.  It  is  to  inhale  a  full  breath,  and  retain  for  a  second, 


RULES  FOR   BREATHING.  19 

then  to  give  it  out  in  a  forceful  and  abrupt  manner,  with  open 
mouth,  direct  from  the  throat,  avoiding  any  motion  of  the 
body.* 

The  quantity  of  breath  should  be  greater  than  for  vital 
wants.  No  command  without  breath.  It  is  a  rule  without 
exception  never  to  exhaust  the  lungs.  One  should  fill  the 
lungs  quickly,  deeply,  without  the  least  noise,  and  be  able  to 
economize  so  as  to  continue  an  incredible  length  of  time. 

A  gradual  increase  of  tone,  on  such  power,  gives  an  alarm- 
ing, mighty  sound — like  roaring,  raging — and  the  mind  becomes 
filled  and  overwhelmed  ;  too  great  for  soul  to  bear.  Even  in  de- 
crease it  can  be  made  sublimely  soft  and  delicate. 

Make  the  most  of  the  breath ;  too  large  a  stream  injures  the 
pitch,  and  quality  of  tone.  Artistically,  systematically  practice 
breathing — intone  every  portion  emitted,  making  the  stream  as 
small  as  possible  to  produce  prolongation  with  clearness  and 
completeness  of  perfect  vocalization.  A  practiced  reader 
breathes  imperceptibly  ;  his  voice  is  strong  by  capacity  of  lungs, 
and  strong  respiratory  action  ;  his  words  flow  with  his  breath. 

Let  a  moderate  breath  be  taken  and  then  with  a  small 
stream  commence  suddenly  as  if  by  the  quick  opening  of  a  valve 
without  further  effort.  This  prompt  "  attack  "  will  give  vibra- 
tion and  the  mouth  will  Refilled  with  solid  sound.  This  will 
produce  modulation,  breadth,  and  expansion  ;  but  the  effort 
must  be  all  tone.  Unnatural  force  will  diminish  the  brilliancy 
by  destroying  the  outline. 

The  sensation  of  "laying  hold"  should  be  constantly  re- 
membered. The  vocal  organs  being  delicate,  to  obtain  the 
most  flexible  execution  and  the  nicest  intonation,  their  power 
must  not  be  forced  nor  their  action  oppressed,  but  free  scope 
given  to  their  natural  movements.  The  sound  must  be  fitted, 
not  fixed.  The  full,  open  mouth  prevents  twang.  The  raising 
of  even  the  uvula  may  become  self-acting  and  performed  at 
pleasure  ;  it  imparts  freedom  and  beauty  to  the  voice. 

Free  air  outside  and  around  the  neck  hardens  the  skin  and 
invigorates  the  muscles  of  the  throat. 

*  See  Frobislier's  Voice  and  Action. — The  Explosives,  p.  86. 


20  A<-n.\G    AND    ORATORY. 


Articulation. 

Good  enunciation  seems  to  make  ideas  come  from  the  heart. 
It  should  just/^  the  place,  not  be  too  loud  ;  sweet,  soft,  agree- 
able. It  should  not  be  too  rapid,  and  be  remembered  as  well 
as  heard,  and  not  in  a  peculiar  tone.  It  should  be  every  word 
distinct,  and  the  voice  sustained  to  the  end  of  every  sentence  ; 
not  however  to  swell  every  word  and  make  look  big  :  not  em- 
phasize small  words  to  the  detriment  of  the  more  important. 
Drive  the  smaller  ones  together,  if  need  be,  to  display  voice,  for 
they  are  the  mere  links  of  language.  A  thin  pronunciation  is 
inelegant ;  to  prevent  it,  lower  the  tongue,  as  in  the  act  of 
swallowing,  and  enlarge  the  interior  of  the  mouth. 

A  deliberate  enunciation  allows  the  speaker  time  to  be  fuller 
in  tone,  more  distinct,  to  give  every  word  and  sentence  its  pro- 
per turn  and  emphasis  ;  to  observe  the  effects  he  produces,  and 
to  adapt  himself  to  the  circumstances  ;  to  reserve  his  force. 
He  also  gives  himself  and  hearer  leisure  to  consider  and  feel 
without  strain.  He  can  at  times  be  even  rapid  ;  changes  can 
frequently  recur.  Frequent  pauses  also  afford  relief  to  all,  and 
take  off  the  air  of  declamation,  which  makes  speech  more 
natural,  like  waiting  to  think.  Even  the  silence  at  pauses  is 
sometimes  marvelous. 

Powerful  articulation  isolates,  engraves,  and  chisels  a 
thought,  which  fills  the  ear  and  soul,  and  brings  the  nervous 
system  of  the  orator  into  full  play.  But  there  need  not  be  as 
much  effort  as  in  hurling  a  club,  but  rather  compression  to 
produce  expression. 

In  articulation  it  is  the  consonant  which  vivifies ;  the 
vowel  kills. 

Indistinct  utterance  keeps  attention  to  the  words  instead  of 
the  ideas.  Distinct  articulation,  with  a  weak  voice  is  better 
than  indistinct  with  a  strong  one. 

Pure  Tone. 

The  sound  which  rasps  the  hearer's  ear,  always  rasps  the 
speaker's  throat.  The  tones  of  the  good  speaker  enter  the  ear 


PURE   TONE.  21 

with  the  roundness,  smoothness,  and  solidity  of  a  polished  mar- 
ble shaft ;  the  result  of  the  possession  of  a  correct  ea.r  and 
healthy  organs,  moderation  of,  and  not  too  much  breath,  and 
attention  and  care  in  the  management  of  the  throat. 

Noise,  is  a  confused  mixture  of  sounds  ;  a  concussion  of  non- 
elastic  bodies. 

Musical  Sounds  are  the  pure,  harmonious  effects  of  elastic 
bodies,  like  bells.  The  human  voice  is  the  purest.  The  point 
of  action  on  the  back  of  throat  where  the  hair  terminates  on  the 
neck.  The  least  deviation  from  this  is  disagreeable. 

Depth  of  voice  expresses  inmost  feelings,  from  the  heart ; 
and  fills  the  mind  with  an  idea  of  an  enormous  being. 

The  Tenor  or  Middle  voice,  with  elevated  pitch,  sometimes 
produces  awful  effects.  Kean,  at  times,  with  it,  gave  the  yell 
and  choked  utterance  of  a  savage.  An  example  is  found  in  the 
following;  "  Oh!  if  I  catch  him  once  upon  the  hip!"  rising 
perhaps  an  octave  on  the  last  words.  His  tones  of  furious  pas- 
sion were  deeply  seated  in  the  chest,  like  those  of  a  lion  or  tiger. 
He  had  a  complete  mastery  over  the  instinctive  tones  which  so 
powerfully  move  an  audience.  At  times  he  vomited  forth  a 
torrent  of  words  in  a  breath,  yet  availed  himself  of  all  the  ad- 
vantages of  deliberation.  His  pauses  gave  a  grandeur  to  his 
performance  and  spoke  more  powerfully  than  words  themselves. 
He  had  great  compass  and  celerity  of  vocality  which  served  him 
well  in  villainy.  He  could  hurry,  in  anger,  and  dwell,  in  grief, 
at  pleasure. 

Tonics  are  the  pure  tones  ;  with  slight  use  of  organs. 

Sub-tonics  are  tones  modified  by  organs. 

A-tonics  are  not  tones,  but  breathings,  modified  by  organs. 

In  the  tonics,  open  the  organs  and  let  the  sound  pass  to  the 
roof  of  the  mouth.  In  the  sub-tonics,  and  a-tonics,  press  the 
organs  firmly,  have  the  lungs  full,  and  throw  the  breath  upon 
them  forcibly  to  prolong  the  sound  and  make  a  full  impression 
on  the  air. 

Such  discipline  is  the  basis,  then  mere  force  of  the  will,  and 
patient  practice  leads  up  to  the  beauties  of  expression. 


22  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 


Force. 

Pupils  are  generally  reluctant  to  practice  with  sufficient 
force  to  answer  the  purpose.  Students  are  apt  to  be  languid  in 
their  tones,  and  oftentimes  diffident  in  manner. 

Excellence  must  consist  in  such  a  command  of  the  legitimate 
use  of  the  voice,  as  to  be  able  to  dispense  with  rant,  extravagant 
inflection  or  emphasis,  and  to  use  the  simple  melody. 

Voice  is  not  expression,  but  its  vehicle.  A  sweet  sonorous 
voice  may  please  and  perhaps  charm,  but  yet  not  touch  the 
heart.  It  is  only  transient  in  effects.  It  is  bad  to  be  beguiled 
by  the  melody  of  one's  own  voice.  When  consistently  done,  the 
beauty  of  a  splendid  organ,  splendidly  trained,  is  far  more 
enjoyed  than  when  in  the  opposite  case  it  is  made  a  principal 
rather  than  an  agent. 

For  the  animal  economy  every  particle  of  air  should  be 
turned  to  account.  The  instant  the  bow  of  the  violin  touches 
the  strings,  a  sound  is  produced ;  the  same  with  the  voice,  or 
loss  of  power. 

Clearness  is  another  name  for  purity,  and  implies  that  a 
sound  should  stand  out  distinct,  instead  of  being  choked  with 
confusing  ingredients.  It  should  be  full,  round,  soul-ful.  The 
voice  must  be  loud  enough  to  make  everybody  hear,  but  clear- 
ness, not  loudness,  is  the  great  requisite.  A  person's  roundest 
voice  is  that  in  which  he  usually  speaks,  and  then  high  or  low, 
as  occasion  requires.  A  strong  voice  is  the  most  serviceable, 
and  less  liable  to  suffer  from  straining. 

All  excesses  and  bodily  dispositions  affect  the  vocal  organs. 
The  vocal  organs  are  capable  of  tenfold  exertion  if  the  voice  is 
formed  properly  in  the  mouth,  if  not.  disease  is  more  likely  to 
occur  to  the  throat.  A  sudden  and  powerful  exertion  roughens 
it,  irritates  the  larynx  and  induces  hoarseness.  The  organs 
should  be  gradually  warmed  to  their  work,  until  the  blood  cir- 
culates, and  the  secretion  of  the  fluids  in  the  mouth  and  throat 
are  stimulated,  and  the  whole  body  is  nerved  by  mental  excite- 
ment. Then  the  force  may  be  increased  and  powerful,  and 
protracted  exertions  made  with  marvelous  impunity  :  but  at 


PURE   TONE.  23 

no  time  need  they  be  extravagant.  Demosthenes  matched  his 
"feeble  "  voice  against  the  ocean.  The  voice  of  Lablache  was 
made  strong  enough  in  its  vibrations  to  break  window  glass. 

The  amount  of  air  breathed  affects  our  strength  like  the 
eagle.  We  should  never  be  fatigued,  but  be  strengthened  by 
plenty  of  exercise  in  the  open  air.  Like  the  singer  by  ceaseless, 
painful  drudgery,  who  learns  to  master  all  the  movements  of  his 
throat, — so  must  the  orator  or  actor  by  vocal  exercises  acquire  a 
mastery  over  the  expansion  and  contraction  of  his  vocal  organs. 
Then  will  his  voice  be  obedient  to  his  will.  Let  him  master  the 
rules  of  his  art,  and  his  perceptions  will  be  more  quick  and  vig- 
orous. 

Actors  have  the  least  trouble  with  their  throats  because  they 
use  them  daily  ;  clergymen  seldom  use  them  over  once  or  twice 
a  week.  The  habit  of  use  strengthens.  The  method  of  the 
actor  is  studied  to  better  advantage.  Vocalists  are  also  in  more 
constant  practice,  and  do  not  go  before  audiences  at  random. 

The  management  of  the  voice  is  worth  more  than  its  nature. 
Even  a  weak  voice  properly  managed  can  produce  great  effects. 
A  voice  ripened  by  passion,  age,  or  study  loses  in  freshness,  but 
gains  in  fulness  and  strength.  Let  the  voice  show  its  strength. 
Excessive  loudness  overpowers  the  soul.  A  sudden  beginning  or 
sudden  cessation  of  sound  of  any  considerable  force,  has  the  same 
power.  The  single  repeated  stroke  of  a  drum,  the  successive 
firing  of  cannon  produce  peculiar  effects. 

Vocal  compass  is  improved,  and  sing-song  and  monotony 
broken  up.  by  exercises  on  the  inflections  and  on  scales  of  pitch. 

Strength,  by  explosive  exercises. 

Flexibility  and  Quantity,  by  practicing  slides  and  waves. 

Command,  by  exercises  on  the  passions. 

Drawling  can  be  broken  up  by  force,  and  the  stresses. 

The  pure  (head)  tone  should  be  given  to  moderate,  subdued 
sentiments,  when  not  accompanied  by  solemnity ;  like  the 
Psalms.  This  tone  occasions  no  fatigue.  It  is  the  voice  of  the 
parlor  and  can  readily  be  enlarged.  The  orotund  (chest)  is  used 
on  public  oratorical  occasions  ;  it  is  round,  full,  with  all  parts 
of  the  mouth  and  throat  well  expanded. 


24  ACTIXG   AND    ORATORI-. 

To  have  a  magnificent  chest  and  voice  one  must  hold  up  the 
head,  throw  back  the  shoulders,  and  breathe  deeply,  regularly 
every  day.  An  expanded  chest  gives  courage  and  a  good  car- 
riage of  the  bust.  It  is  the  breath  and  not  the  muscle  that  fails 
first. 

The  sublime  effects  of  the  voice  are  produced  by  a  very  puny 
instrument.  For  the  production  of  a  chest  voice  a  very  com- 
plete action  is  necessary,  and  a  very  close  contact  of  the  two 
sides  of  the  glottis,  and  the  vocal  chords  vibrate  throughout 
their  whole  extent.  A  true  voice  passes  without  hesitation  from 
sound  to  sound.  Those  who  speak  fast  and  low  imply  strength 
and  courage.  The  best  orators  have  invariably  cultivated  the 
deeper  chest  tones,  through  the  development  of  which  the  true 
power  and  compass  of  the  voice  can  only  be  obtained. 

The  aspirated  voice  (suppressed  half- vocal,)  is  used  for  awe. 
The  voice  should  be  practiced  from  the  highest  whisper  to  the 
loudest  vo'cality,  if  possible  in  the  open  air  and  against  the  wind, 
every  day,  mornings  best,  until  fully  felt.  Eunning  up  ascents 
without  panting,  gives  retentive  breath,  and  is  excellent  even  for 
weak  children,  and  will  expand  even  contracted  chests.  It  dilates 
the  nostrils,  and  shouting  at  the  same  time,  if  not  strained,  gives 
compactness,  clearness  of  tone  to  the  utmost  extent.  The  call, 
at  such  times,  should  always  be  kept  musical  in  a  gradual  and 
skilful  swell,  for  sonorous  sounds  are  more  penetrative  and  go 
farthest.  By  exercise,  so  long  as  we  do  not  weaken  we  strength- 
en. The  Germans  sing  much  as  a  nation,  have  strong  lungs 
and  are  not  consumptive. 

The  ancients  practiced  declamation  while  walking,  running, 
climbing,  lying  down  with  weights  upon  the  chest,  to  have 
organs  under  perfect  control. 

The  voice  should  be  forged  and  shaped  and  tempered  with 
the  same  patience  and  craft  as  the  chieftain's  sword. 

Pitch. 

In  the  various  tumults  of  passion  the  voice  runs  to  high 
acute,  or  low  grave.  Excess  in  either  should  be  avoided,  par- 
ticularly in  the  latter  ;  because  few  can  use  a  very  grave  accent 


PITCH.  25 

without  dwindling  to  a  whisper ;  and  as  long  sounds  are  more 
audible,  all  syllables  should  have  the  full  extent  of  their  quan- 
tity and  nearly  uniform  strength  of  voice,  and  not  die  away  or 
be  interrupted  by  rests  after  every  syllable,  as  if  sighed  out,  nor 
be  abruptly  spoken.  In  general,  all  rapid  pronunciation  keeps 
an  audience  in  painful  attention,  and  with  no  pauses  they  have 
no  time  to  reflect  and  remember. 

It  is  well  to  practice  passages  with  walking,  and  then  run- 
ning measure. 

These  ideas  at  best  are  mere  helps  ;  they  cannot  make,  they 
can  only  assist  in  developing  what  is  latent.  The  picture  must 
be  seen  before  it  can  be  painted. 

Every  accentuated  or  emphatic  syllable  has  a  different  stress 
and  change  of  note  or  else  speech  is  monotonous. 

The  mind  is  constantly  agitated  not  with  mere  ideas  only, 
but  feelings,  emotions,  and  it  needs  signs  besides  words,  to 
express  its  conditions.  In  oratory,  plain  ideas  are  not  enough, 
they  must  be  embellished.  The  love  of  variety  is  natural,  but 
it  must  be  regulated  by  just  laws.  In  emphatic  speech  nothing 
should  be  used  except  what  results  from  the  meaning  and  the 
sentiment.  Loudness  must  be  softened,  harshness  smoothed, 
the  sentiment  felt,  and  the  emphases  will  come. 

The  ancients  even  anatomized  words  into  letters,  to  find 
their  nature,  sound,  to  the  finest  shade.  It  was  with  them  ex- 
actness— and  the  utmost  art  only  improved  the  spirit.  It  was 
with  them  grand,  graceful. 

Large  musical  intervals  are  traversed  in  impassioned  speaking, 
and  it  is  one  of  the  first  requisites  to  realize  this  fact  and  carry  it 
into  practice.  It  needs  close  attention  to  appreciate  the  extent. 

For  general  use  the  lowest  notes  are  too  full  and  make  the 
least  impression  ;  the  highest  are  too  sharp,  and  are  unpleasant 
and  disagreeable  ;  the  middle  are  the  best  as  a  basis  to  raise  and 
lower  from  at  will ;  the  tenor,  the  natural  bell-tone.  First, 
equality  of  tone,  not  steps  ;  next,  variety,  changing  by  melody 
and  modulation,  and  conforming  to  the  subject,  neither  bawl- 
ing nor  lifeless ;  and  there  is  always  a  great  chasm  to  bridge 
between  the  letter  and  the  spirit,  the  words  and  ideas. 
2 


26  ACTING   AND    ORATOltY. 

• 

Intonation  is  the  most  difficult  to  teach. 

Tremor — its  daily  practice  is  an  excellent  means  of  impart- 
ing elasticity ;  to  give  contraction  and  expansion  to  the  vocal 
muscles. 

Time. 

Pauses,  occasionally,  if  not  too  long,  and  well-placed,  are 
very  effective  ;  they  supply  breath  so  as  to  follow  up  and  over- 
take the  chain  of  reasoning.  They  fix  ideas  in  the  memory, 
rest  the  voice  of  the  speaker,  and  enable  him  to  begin  again  in. 
a  different  key  at  a  new  paragraph  or  period.  Indeed  it  is  im- 
possible to  speak  as  distinctly  without  making  some  little  pause, 
indefinitely  short,  between  every  word.  All  this  suggests  a 
deliberate  utterance.  Of  course  some  speeches,  or  passages 
require  rapidity,  and  the  judgment  is  used.  Judgment  and 
good  care  are  also  to  be  observed  in  pronouncing  the  end  of  sen- 
tences ;  one  of  the  greatest  of  faults  is  sinking  the  last  word, 
and  oftentimes  the  entire  meaning  depends  upon  it. 

Suspensive  Quantity  is  at  the  end  of  a  word  without  paus- 
ing and  wholly  interrupting  the  progress  of  sound. 

To  allow  the  mind  of  the  hearer  to  outrun  the  speaker 
makes  him  insipid  and  fatiguing  ;  and  yet  he  should  be  equally 
cautious  of  speaking  too  fast.  Employ  all  pauses  in  mentally 
painting  the  idea  conveyed  in  the  coming  sentence  ;  then  the 
expression  of  the  voice  will  be  made  deeper,  truer. 

Slow,  deliberate  utterance  expresses  serious,  meditative 
moods  ;  acceleration  gives  vivid  expression  to  animated  senti- 
ments. A  forcible  ictus,  at  such  times,  is  given  on  the  begin- 
ning of  the  syllable.  It  is  effected  by  the  very  quick  and  spas- 
modic contraction  of  the  muscles  of  the  breast  and  larynx,  and 
a  burst  of  voice  like  that  of  a  fire-arm.  The  sound  may  con- 
tinue for  a  while,  long  and  loud  ;  it  is  exceedingly  oppressive, 
and  signifies  dogmatic  certainty  ;  sudden  and  determined  pas- 
sion. It  is  an  Olympic  thunderbolt  to  be  used  discreetly. 

Besides  timbre  and  tone,  there  is  a  peculiar  thrill  and  trem- 
ulousness  to  which  the  heart  never  fails  to  vibrate  ;  and  nature 
iias  furnished  to  all  exquisite  nerves  which  respond  to  true  emo- 


EMPHASIS.  27 

tion.  Artistic  speakers  expend  boundless  labor  to  attain  this 
feature,  for  there  is  a  certain  mechanical  dexterity  to  be  ac- 
quired before  beautiful  conceptions  can  be  communicated  to 
others.  This  is  essential  to  all  the  fine  arts.  Luminous,  ele- 
gant expression  comes  only  by  habitual  practice.  This  is  the 
golden  key  to  every  excellence,  but  it  can  be  secured  only  by 
intense  and  unremitting  labor.  It  is  by  often  calling  forth  the 
best  powers  of  the  soul  that  prevents  languor,  and  preserves 
vivacity,  and  exquisiteness  of  temperament,  and  makes  every 
string  more  intense  and  tinnient. 

Emphasis. 

Emphasis  is  like  color  in  painting  ;  it  has  a  thousand  tints 
and  shades.  It  should  be  used  with  prudent  reserve,  and  not  too 
much.  It  should  be  repose,  not  fatigue.  Distress  annoys 
hearers.  Expression  is  the  color  of  oratory  ;  it  brings  out  the 
purpose  from  the  thought. 

The  irregular  combinations  of  fanciful  inventions  may  de- 
light for  a  while  by  novelty,  for  which  the  common  satiety  of  life 
sends  us  in  quest,  but  sudden  wonders  are  soon  exhausted,  for 
the  mind  can  only  repose  in  the  stability  of  truth.  It  must  be 
the  soul  that  yearns  to  speak.  The  best  kind  of  practice  is  every 
day  just  as  before  public.  It  is  to  discharge  waves  of  air  into 
space  by  compressing  and  reducing  breath  into  expressive  sounds 
which  at  last  forms  speech. 

So  nice  is  the  machinery  of  human  discourse,  that  no  small 
part  of  the  sentiment  consists  in  the  very  word  itself  which  is 
employed  to  express  it.  Certain  words  even,  open  the  mouth 
better  and  are  therefore  more  expressive.  The  voice  itself  can 
express  shades  which  written  words  do  not  even  suggest  ;  the 
words  are  the  bones,  the  expression  the  flesh,  blood,  soul  of 
speech. 

Generally  each  new  paragraph  requires  a  change  ;  but  a  new, 
•vivid  idea  also  raises  the  pitch,  and  increases  the  force.  The 
best  of  the  voice  should  be  used  for  the  drift,  reserving  the  ex- 
tremes for  special  effects.  There  should  be  variations,  but  not 
chasms,  which  are  painful  to  audience.  Variety  relieves  the 


28  ACTIXG   AXD    ORATORY. 

voice  as  postures  relieve  the  body.  The  greatest  feature  of  sig- 
nificant reading  is  the  distinguishing  of  primary  from  what  is 
pre-understood  ;  a  new  idea  from  the  preceding.  Emphasis  is 
not  merely  pleasing  and  sensuous,  but  intellectual  and  moral ; 
because  it  expands  to  the  ear  and  understanding,  the  thought. 
But  a  mechanical  emphasis  is  the  worst  of  mannerisms.  The 
voice  of  an  animated  speaker  should  always  sway  like  moving 
waters,  with  perpetual  undulations,  as  variable  as  the  tides 
of  thought  and  feeling  which  gush  through  it  from  the  soul. 
A  grave  error  is  attempting  to  be  brilliant  throughout.  Na- 
ture does  not  thunder  all  the  year  ;  it  is  sunshine,  calm,  and 
storm.  Constant  intensity  is  insincerity.  It  should  be  flow 
and  ebb. 

The  hearers  read  the  coming  sentiment  upon  the  speaker's 
countenance,  his  limbs,  and  even  his  fingers,  before  he  speaks 
a  word,  as  he  approaches  and  wields  the  loftiest  subject  with  a 
solemn  awe  and  anxious  diffidence,  whose  palpitations  nothing 
but  a  heroic  will  can  control.  The  degree  of  emphasis  is  a 
question  of  judgment.  Emphasis  of  sense  determines  the  mean- 
ing. Emphasis  of  feeling  is  in  the  highest  degree  expressive  of 
sentiment.  Staccato  force  is  peculiar  emphasis  that  can  some- 
times be  used  very  effectively.  A  pause  on  a  word  gives  it  em- 
phasis, and  makes  the  rest  of  the  sentence  prominent.  Never 
fear  pauses  in  public ;  but  they  are  to  be  made  as  in  ordinary 
sensible  conversation,  and  with  the  proper  tone  of  voice.  Em- 
phasis as  from  one's  own  mind  is  sure  to  be  correct. 

The  natural,  easy,  musical  quality  of  voice  which  marks 
refined  society  should  be  the  one  most  used  ;  but  the  tone  may 
be  more  forcible,  and  yet  pleasant. 

"  He  is  lest  who  can  turn  men's  ears  into  eyes."  He  has  an 
exact  idea  of  what  he  would  express,  and  then  expresses  just 
that. 

Even  monotony,  which  misapplied,  is  a  deformity,  properly 
used  is  an  embellishment. 

In  cold  natures  taste  is  satisfied  with  insipid  correctness, 
hence  mediocrity  :  but  ardent  natures  may  be  wrong  and  cor- 
rupt others.  It  should  be  after  a  standard  to  be  worth  some- 


EMPHASIS.  29 

thing.  Even  the  best  are  sometimes  content  with  faults  and 
do  not  seek  to  remove  them. 

Work  may  be  called  excellent,  even  if  there  be  inferiority  in 
execution,  if  it  suggests  noble  ideas,  or  appeals  profoundly  to 
the  emotions,  and  is  kept  in  motive  within  the  limits  of  truth 
and  beauty. 

The  best  means  is  a  slow,  syllabic  and  literal  analysis  ;  to 
invert  sentences  ;  to  even  read  backwards  ;  to  study  columns  of 
a  dictionary  to  get  precise  meaning.  What  incredible  pains  did 
the  ancients  cheerfully  undergo  !  what  severe  tasks  !  and  all 
upon  the  greatest,  firmest,  most  sensible,  and  most  elegant 
spirits  the  world  ever  saw.  They  showed  great  steadiness  and 
consistency,  and  adhered  without  any  feeling  of  satiety  or  crav- 
ing after  novelty,  to  those  models  which  had  been  recognized  as 
the  most  perfect.  They  laid  astonishing  stress  on  the  manner 
of  delivery,  the  observance  of  rhythm,  and  the  intonation  and 
inflection  of  the  voice  ;  and  previous  to  public  delivery  deemed 
it  most  important  to  rehearse  and  practice  the  matter  prepared 
for  the  purpose.  Not  only  did  these  master  minds  resort  to 
method,  but  even  the  Indians  of  our  own  country  used  to  re- 
hearse their  speeches  in  the  forests.  In  many  of  our  colleges 
not  only  is  no  provision  made  for  the  study  of  elocution,  but  it 
is  discouraged  by  the  absorbing  attention  demanded  by  other 
studies. 

The  ear  for  articulate  melody  and  emphasis,  gratified  by  a 
fine  elocution,  is  quite  different  from  a  musical  ear,  and  is 
equally  the  gift  of  nature.  The  ear  for  versification  is  an  off- 
shoot of  this.  The  delicate  appreciation  of  the  modes  of  artic- 
ulate speech,  as  shown  in  the  sense  of  cadence  and  accent,  and 
in  the  nice  perception  of  the  sounds  of  the  letters  themselves,  is 
an  endowment  equal  to  the  taste  for  music,  as  evinced  in  great 
actors  and  elocutionists. 

The  varying  tones  and  emphasis  of  the  voice  have  something 
of  the  same  effect  upon  the  listener,  as  movements  upon  the 
spectator;  and  both  can  be  adjusted  to  the  most  graceful  and 
impressive  moods.  Those  that  feel  this  most,  are  naturally 
those  that  most  desire  to  reproduce  this  enjoyment. 


30  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 


Gesture. 

Gesture  is  a  just  and  elegant  adaptation  of  every  part  of  the 
body  to  the  subject.  It  is  deemed  greater  than  words.  It  is 
nature  and  goes  to  the  heart.  Propriety  must  govern  voice, 
gesture,  and  expression  as  to  subject,  place,  and  circumstances. 

Gesture  is  not  mere  motion,  it  is  manifestation  of  the  soul 
which  exercises  its  power  over  all  the  muscles.  It  may  come 
even  in  silence.  The  look  and  actions  should  corroborate  what 
is  uttered  by  the  lips.  You  may  utter  much  and  if  not  uttered 
well  it  is  lost.  Concentrate  action,  be  penetrated,  restrain  what 
is  not  felt,  or  the  eye  is  fatigued  by  insipidity  of  motion. 

Gestures  may  be  either  picturesque  or  expi'essive  ;  but  the 
countenance  is  the  principal  seat  of  the  movements  of  the  soul. 
The  most  eloquent  parts  of  it  are  the  eyes  and  brows,  combin- 
ing infinite  varieties  and  invitations,  which  are  so  curiously  and 
finely  blended  that  to  distinguish  and  separate  them  is  a  labor 
frequently  approximating  to  an  impossibility. 

Literal  effects  increase  the  force,  for  what  is  spoken  to  the 
ears  makes  not  so  deep  an  impression  as  what  is  shown  to 
the  eyes. 

Even  standing  motionless,  frequently,  for  several  minutes 
brings  the  habit  of  repose.  To  stand  erect,  in  a  dignified, 
graceful  posture,  so  as  to  have  complete  command  over  the 
whole  body,  is  one  of  the  first  requisites  of  oratory  ;  next  comes 
the  action  of  the  head  and  hands  ;  all  of  which  must  be  purely 
natural.  The  great  danger  is  affectation. 

What  people  do  in  passion  depends  on  their  own  individu- 
ality, education,  and  experience,  and  each  as  different  as  faces. 
One  man  will  use  one  hand,  another  two  in  the  same  situation, 
yet  either  appropriate,  and  harmonious.  Some  things  for  one 
would  be  absurd  for  another. 

Action  sustains  expression.  Slow  movements  in  great  men- 
tal moods. 

It  should  be  to  conceal  the  art  of  gesture  so  as  not  to  present 
the  least  appearance  of  design. 


DR.    RUSH   ON  GOOD   READIXG.  31 

Sometimes  move  in  curves — sometimes  point  to  point,  as 
more  decisive.  It  is  well  to  observe  acrobats. 

Bodily  motion  moderate ;  much  wearies  the  speaker,  and 
distracts  audience.  Sometimes  an  outburst  is  well,  but  gener- 
ally compress  as  much  as  possible  to  be  felt  that  you  possess 
within  much  greater  than  is  manifested. 

Referential  Gesture — is  referring  to  object. 

Impassioned — is  the  effect  of  natural  impulse. 

Imitative — generally  in  comic  styles,  sometimes  in  serious. 

Pulpit  oratory  requires  the  emphatic.  The  Senate  and  Bar 
referential  and  impassioned.  The  Stage  all.  The  pulpit  should 
have  all.  The  preacher  needs  to  use  his  powers  to  fullest  ex- 
tent. Action  should  generally  be  decided. 

The  essence  of  all  Greek  dancing  is  a  bodily  expression  of 
some  inward  feeling  ;  it  is  mind  and  body, — the  leading  thought 
penetrating  the  whole  body  ;  each  movement  a  speaking  ex- 
pression ;  not  senseless  evolutions — but  an  art — the  outward 
representation  of  an  inward  idea — all  limbs  sharing  in  the  ex- 
pression ; — arms  and  hands  most  required. 

Gesture  is  character  ;  for  it  is  not  what  we  do,  but  what  we 
are;  and  this  appears  in  every  word  and  gesture.  A  person 
entering  a  room  is  either  formal  or  natural  in  his  speech  and 
action.  Even  his  dress  as  to  its  elegance  and  manliness  forms  a 
part  of  him. 

To  acquire  good  habits  of  gesture  one  should  have  a  deep 
insight  into  human  nature,  to  be  able  to  observe  men  under 
different  emotions  and  circumstances.  Noting  personal  vigor 
of  any  kind,  great  power  of  performance  gives  fresh  resolution. 
Many  admire  what  is  bad,  but  none  condemn  what  is  good. 
For  practice  every  day  is  the  best  in  the  year  ;  God  works  in 
moments. 

Dr.  Rush  on  Good  Reading. 

The  power  of  giving  indefinite  prolongation  to  syllables  is 
not  commonly  possessed  by  speakers.  A  reader  who  has  not 
by  practice,  a  facility  in  executing  the  long  quantities  of  speech, 


3 2  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

will  be  liable,  in  extending  his  syllables,  to  fall  into  the  pro- 
tracted radical  or  protracted  vanish  of  song.  To  a  bad  reader, 
nearly  all  sentences  are  alike,  however  improperly  constructed 
for  vocal  expression.  He  who  looks  abroad  for  excellence, 
through  all  the  ways  of  the  voice,  must  often  find  the  tenden- 
cies and  demands  of  his  utterance  restricted  by  the  unyielding 
character  of  an  immutable  phraseology.  A  limited  discern- 
ment, and  the  common  uses  of  quantity  often  suffice  to  set  forth 
the  thought  of  an  author  ;  but  an  admirative  or  a  passionative 
expression  will  in  many  cases  be  imperfect  or  lost,  if  tried  on 
the  immutable  time  of  syllables.  Even  parts  of  Milton  are  dif- 
ficult to  read  on  this  account  alone.  A  rhythmic  style  is  more 
easily  read  and  more  forcibly  declaimed  than  a  loose  and  un- 
jointed  construction. 

Pauses  divide  into  sections  the  continued  line  of  words 
which  severally  describe  these  existences,  and  agencies,  with 
their  relationships  ;  the  restricted  utterance  within  these  pauses 
giving  a  sectional  unity  to  the  impression  on  the  ear  and  a  clear 
perception  to  the  mind  by  their  temporary  limitation  to  a  sin- 
gle subject  of  attention.  The  division  of  discourse,  by  means 
of  this  occasional  rest,  prevents  feebleness  or  confusion  of  im- 
pression resulting  from  an  unbroken  movement  of  speech, — 
no  less  remarkable  than  the  skilful  disposition  of  color,  and 
light,  and  space,  significantly  distinguish  the  pictured  objects 
of  a  canvas,  from  the  unmeaning  positions  and  actions  of  a 
chaos  and  a  crowd. 

The  inversions  of  style,  the  intersections  of  expletives,  and 
the  wide  separation  of  antecedents  and  relatives,  may  be  suffi- 
ciently perspicuous,  through  the  circumspection  of  the  mind, 
and  the  advancing  span  of  the  eye.  in  the  deliberate  perusal  of  a 
period.  But  in  listening  to  reading,  or  to  speech,  we  can  em- 
ploy no  scrutinizing  hesitation  ;  and  though  the  instant  memory 
may  retrace,  to  a  certain  limit,  the  intricacies  of  construction, 
the  best  discernment  cannot  always  anticipate  the  meaning  of  a 
succeeding  member,  nor  the  character  and  position  of  its  pause. 
Our  higher  poetry,  in  the  contriving  purpose  of  its  eloquence, 
gives  many  instances  of  extreme  involution  of  style  ;  and  the 
reader  of  English  is  frequently  obliged  to  employ  other  means 


DR.    RUSH   ON  GOOD  READING.  33 

for  exhibiting  the  true  relationship  of  words,  besides  the  simple 
current  of  utterance  that  may  be  sufficient  for  the  obvious 
syntax  of  a  more  familiar  idiom.  Some  of  these  means  are  the 
division  into  Clauses,  the  progress  of  Melody,  Pitch,  Force, 
Punctuation,  the  emphatic  Tie,  Grouping,  etc.  Milton  and 
Shakespeare  cannot  be  read  well,  without  strict  attention  to  the 
apparent  apposition  between  the  purposes  of  the  pause  and  of 
the  thought,  and  to  the  reconciling  power  of  the  phrases  of 
melody — parenthesis,  monotone,  etc. 

Very  few  speakers  are  able  to  execute  this  plain  melody,  in 
the  beautiful  simplicity  of  its  diatonic  construction.  Some  con- 
stantly use  throughout  their  current,  the  simple  use  of  a  third, 
a  fifth,  or  a  semitone,  and  every  emphatic  syllable  in  an  impres- 
sive form  of  their  waves.  Ambitious  of  giving  a  greater  degree 
of  dignified  expression,  they  use  wide  and  exceptiotial  intervals, 
producing  not  only  false  but  even  monotonous  intonation,  the 
effect  of  which  cannot  be  unduly  repeated  without  offending  the 
well  instructed  ear.  The  simple  and  unobtrusive  second  can  be 
continuously  used,  with  slight  changes,  so  as  not  to  produce  a 
disagreeable  uniformity,  by  rise  and  fall  of  the  voice,  waves, 
time,  pitch,  merely  sufficient  without  destroying  plainness. 

Grandeur  is  signified  by  a  Unity  both  great  and  uncommon. 
Denoted  in  the  voice  by  a  continuation  of  simple  concretes 
.and  waves  through  limited  intervals  ;  the  melody  being  varied 
so  far  only,  as  not  to  destroy  the  pervading  character  of  a  con- 
nected whole.  Greatness  of  vocal  unity  is  denoted  by  gravity  of 
pitch,  extension  of  quantity,  the  fulness  of  an  orotund  vocality, 
.and  by  a  deliberate  and  distinct  articulation.  An  uncommon 
vocal  unity  is  shown  by  a  general  use  of  an  elevated  vocal  style, 
whether  of  grandeur  or  elegance,  but  unknown  in  the  habits  of 
the  popular  mind  and  ear. 

These  points  of  intonation  are  accomplished  by  a  Good 
Reader — if  there  can  be  a  good  or  finished  reader,  without  the 
educative  means  of  science — one  to  whom  nature  has  given  a 
mental  perception  to  assume  the  thought  and  passion  of  an 
author,  and  the  vocal  power  to  represent  them  with  propriety — 
by  one  who,  when  he  feels  the  uneasiness  of  error,  will  give  even 
painful  industry  for  its  correction  ;  and  who,  in  his  self-directed 


34  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

labors,  is  instinctively  following  the  order,  and  effecting  much 
of  the  purpose  of  scientific  analysis  and  rule.  But  how  shall  he 
find  these  out.  who  searches  after  right,  without  knowing  what 

O          *  O 

is  wrong  ;  and  who  copies  both  the  faults  and  merits  of  an  in- 
dividual example,  instead  of  reaching  forth,  under  the  direction 
of  broad-founded  precept,  to  gather  excellence  by  discrimina- 
ting selection. 

The  art  of  reading  well  consists  in  having  all  the  constitu- 
ents of  speech,  both  alphabetic  and  expressive,  under  complete 
control  ;  to  be,  through  nature's  directive  instinct,  properly  ap- 
plied for  the  impressive  and  elegant  representation  of  every 
state  of  mind.  The  organs  of  speech  are  -capable  of  a  cert  ain 
range  of  exertion  ;  and  to  fulfil  all  the  demands  of  a  finished 
elocution,  they  should  be  carried  to  the  extent  of  that  capability. 
An  elementary  method  of  instruction  points  out  what  is  to  be 
desired  and  attained,  and  how  every  vocal  purpose  of  thought 
and  passion  should  be  fulfilled.  The  best  contrived  scheme 
will  be  of  little  avail,  without  the  utmost  zeal  and  perseverance 
on  the  part  of  the  learner,  and  the  whole  to  be  studied  in  all  its 
fulness. 

GENERAL    HINTS. 

SPEAK  well  from  thinking  well.  Divide  words  into  little 
groups,  to  give  time  for  meaning.  It  gives  method,  proportion, 
and  avoids  confusion. 

Give  intelligence  to  every  line  ;  the  smallest  touch  is  expres- 
sive of  character.  Give  each  part  its  light  and  shade  ;  each 
idea,  yet  all  as  one  broad  mass.  This  breadth  preserved  is 
better  than  the  most  laborious  finishing.  It  is  the  master- 
power.  You  must  contemplate  and  understand  your  work,  or 
you  will  produce  mere  shadow  instead  of  substance,  which  to 
the  unlearned  may  perhaps  appear  excellent,  but  to  the  "educated 
is  false.  It  should  be  dexterity  expressed  by  a  few  strokes. 
Michael  Angelo  elevated  the  feelings  of  the  learned.  To  the 
mass  he  seemed  overcharged. 


BEFORE  AN  AUDIENCE.  35 


Before  an  Audience. 

Three  Things. — Locality  of  performance,  large  place  or 
small,  adaptation  to  the  sentiment,  and  to  the  public. 

A  walk  in  the  open  air,  not  too  long,  for  that  fatigues,  but 
a  brisk  walk,  when  the  health  is  good,  and  circumstances  favora- 
ble, will  invigorate,  and  enable  one  to  grasp  the  whole  subject 
at  once  and  launch  right  into  the  heart  of  it.  If  however  one 
is  necessarily  confined  to  a  room,  he  should  pace  back  and  forth 
and  swing  the  arms  until  the  circiilation  becomes  active  and 
pours  a  stream  of  arterial  blood  to  the  brain  that  will  supply  all 
its  demands.  It  is  also  well  to  fill  the  lungs,  just  before  speak- 
ing, to  their  extremities,  to  start  them  as  it  were  to  their  work. 
Especially  is  this  necessary  if  one  is  obliged  to  sit  before  an 
audience  awaiting  the  time  to  speak.  It  can  be  done  easily, 
arid  without  exciting  the  observation  of  others. 

Do  not  talk  to  others  before  speaking.  But  have  perfect 
repose  just  prior  to  vocal  effort. 

If  you  are  giving  readings  in  public,  think  of  each  selection 
before  beginning. 

Before  rising  to  speak  gently  expand  the  chest  laterally,  not 
raise  it.  When  before  an  audience  take  breath  silently  at  every 
pause.  Do  not  stand  up  hurriedly  or  consequentially,  or  be  in 
haste  to  begin,  but  take  position  with  leisurely  grace.  Pause, 
incline  the  head  slightly,  and  look  quietly  before  commencing. 
A  few  deep  inspirations,  slowly  taken,  especially  through  the 
nostrils,  will  subdue  nervousness.  Commence  softly  to  the 
farthest  in  the  room  until  it  seems  to  return,  not  with  noisy 
echo,  but  with  a  sensation  of  its  pervading  all  parts. 

Variety  of  tone  is  acquired  by  addressing  the  nearest  audi- 
tors and  becoming  louder  and  recalling  the  voice  to  keep  it 
within  reach.  These  intervals  work  powerfully  on  the  tones 
of  the  voice. 

At  first,  low,  deliberate,  distinct,  clear,  and  rising  when 
necessary,  pausing  at  times  to  begin  again.  Look  about  to  see, 
and  to  make  all  listen. 


36  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

In  general  commence  only  loud  enough  to  be  distinctly, 
easily  heard.  Speaking  not  loud  enough  distresses  the  audi- 
ence. You  should  begin  so  slowly  as  to  even  almost  appear  to 
hesitate,  as  if  constructing  sentences,  with  the  appearance  of 
simplicity  and  unaffectedness,  not  promising  too  much  either  in 
words  or  looks. 

In  public  give  more  forcible  strokes  than  in  private  life,  but 
to  an  audience  seem  no  stronger  nor  fainter,  and  just  as  natural. 
Be  deliberate,  very  slow,  holding  in,  not  letting  out,  with  mind 
intent  on  sense.  The  smoothness  and  ease  of  tones  and  pitch 
must  be  distinctly  audible  to  most  distant,  while  not  disagree- 
able to  nearest.  Very  careful  discrimination  at  outset.  If  audi- 
ence happen  to  be  unquiet  they  will  soon  settle  if  the  voice  be 
true.  The  bored  hearer  becomes  an  enemy.  Even  coughing  in 
an  assembly  can  be  stopped  by  devices  of  pauses  and  depression 
of  pitch. 

You  must,  besides,  give  your  audience  time  to  go  with  you, 
for  they  are  not  exactly  in  the  same  condition,  as  you  have  pre- 
pared what  you  are  to  say,  and  they  are  to  receive  it  for  the 
first  time. 

Wlien  well  started,  surround  yourself  with  the  imagery  of 
your  subject,  and  take  no  further  thought  of  your  auditors  until 
the  close.  An  audience  is  not  a  sea  of  faces,  but  expressive 
countenances  upon  which  to  paint  emotions  consciously,  other- 
wise all  is  dim,  shadowy,  and  ineffectual.  Audiences  are  moody 
and  habit  must  dictate  the  process.  After  all  it  is  not  really  so 
much  what  our  compositions  are,  as  to  how  they  are  pronounced. 
It  should  be  with  such  spirit  as  to  wind  the  hearer's  attention  up 
to  the  utmost  pitch.  It  should  come  as  the  result  of  close  study 
in  private  and  yet  have  much  left  to  nature.  It  should  not  be 
forced  heat,  nor  smooth  and  studied  declamation,  and  ince.->.ini 
regard  to  others,  but  right  into  the  soul  of  the  hearer.  The 
.whole  feelings  of  an  audience  are  roused  by  appealing  looks,  per- 
suasive tones,  and  graceful  actions.  It  should  be  heads  and  hearts. 
You  should  converse  continually  with  your  hearers.  Sink  the 
voice  in  pathos,  infuse  tones  into  nerves  of  listeners  and  rivet 
their  attention  by  talking  directly  to  them,  and  yet  not  by  extra- 
ordinary effects  of  manner,  without  reasonable  worth  of  mutter. 


CORRECT  DELIVERY.  37 

Some,  considered  great,  cover  up  but  do  not  eradicate  faults. 
They  may  become  especially,  but  not  generally  good. 

Orators  generally  have  a  public  and  private  delivery ;  the 
one  constrained  and  stiff,  the  other  natural  and  easy.  They 
should  simply  change  one  for  the  other,  to  unlearn.  Some- 
times one's  private  delivery  may  be  faulty — he  must  first  correct 
it.  Notice  how  well-bred  persons  converse  and  you  have  the 
lesson.  It  is  then  a  simple  matter  to  add  gravity,  volume  and 
force.  You  can  learn  from  actors  the  strongest  expression. 
After  quitting  rest  awhile.  By  means  of  intense  meditation 
and  communings  in  the  closet  and  with  frequent  converse  with 
nature,  you  can  step  before  audiences  breathing  an  ethereal 
mien  of  the  very  spirit  of  truth.  It  should  be  thinking  to  a 
sound  purpose,  instead  of  dreaming.  Acquire  the  feeling  to 
tell  when  you  have  done  what  you  wished.  It  should  be  the 
sublimity  of  poetic  imagination,  not  the  extravagance  of  wild 
mannerism. 

Few  men  think  in  perfect  sentences,  any  more  than  an 
artist  in  a  first  sketch,  could  throw  off  a  finished  picture  ;  and 
"  flow  much  learning  does  it  take  to  make  things  plain  " 

The  effect  of  keeping  back  is  heightening  ;  loudness  loses 
command  and  destroys  distinctness.  Every  sound  must  be 
uttered  without  groping  or  preparing  for  it.  Suppression  is 
one  of  the  most  powerful  forms  of  expression.  Have  a  reason 
for  being  moved  or  expect  no  sympathy.  Pause  and  gain  control. 
Keep  the  voice  elastic,  so  as  to  be  able  to  speak  a  long  time  if 
need.  Use  moderate  breath.  Instantaneously  and  at  once  is  the 
only  way. 

In  the  voice,  soul,  and  eye  of  the  orator  there  is  a  something 
which  answers  instinctively  to  the  cravings  of  his  hearers,  who 
hang  upon  his  words,  with  their  eyes  riveted  upon  his  face,  who 
speak  to  him,  in  that  unspoken  but  eloquent  language,  which 
can  never  be  described.  The  flash  of  his  eye  inflames  ;  the  up- 
raising of  his  hand  is  enough  to  hold  them  spell-bound.  It  is 

O  O  i. 

not  to  be  agreeable,  it  is  reality. 

When  language  needs   it.   give   a   forceful    and    important 


38  ACTING    AXD    ORATOh'}'. 

dwelling  upon  the  word  in  the  delivery,  as  if  you  .would  stamp 
it  upon  the  understanding;  a.s  if  you  parted  with  it  reluc- 
tantly, till  convinced  it  would  have  its  effect.  Then  to  prevent 
such  a  dwelling  on  the  utterance  from  appearing  affected,  you 
must  add  that  feeling  significance,  that  interest,  that  gives 
meaning  to  the  tone. 

The  orator  must  compel  his  audience  to  understand  ;  he 
must  force  his  way  into  consciousness  by  the  most  significant, 
the  most  direct  manner  possible.  Adding  force  to  this  will 
makes  it  penetrative.  It  will  inspire  and  permeate.  No  man  is 
plain  until  he  sees  the  truth,  and  no  man  sees  the  truth  who 
does  not  look  beyond  the  exterior.  It  is  not  intuition  alone 
but  it  must  come  out.  Force  is  power  manifested, — power 
streaming  out  in  all  directions,  and  from  every  pore  of  the 
mind.  The  intellect  may  spin  with  great  intensity  upon  its  own 
axis,  and  make  no  other  movement.  This  is  incessant  motion 
but  not  progress.  Ideas  should  not  lie  in  the  speaker's  mind  in 
the  form  of  congregated  atoms,  but  of  living,  salient  energies. 
The  mind,  by  long-continued  contemplation  of  a  subject,  can 
become  steeped  and  saturated  with  it.  Then  force  is  electrical; 
it  permeates  and  thrills.  A  speaker  destitute  of  such  energy 
may  please,  and  we  listen  complacently  and  with  a  quiet  satis- 
faction, but  nothing  more.  He  does  not  cut  sharply  into  the 
heart  of  his  subject  and  consequently  does  not  cut  sharply  into 
the  heart  of  his  hearers.  The  utterances  of  an  intense  and 
forcible  man  penetrate  to  the  quick.  An  audience  loathes  a 
lukewarm  earnestness,  a  counterfeit  enthusiasm. 

The  student  is  often  cold,  and  is  apt  to  shrink  from  that 
persistent  self-denial  of  the  intellect,  which  confines  it  to  long 
and  laborious  effort  upon  a  single  idea  instead  of  allowing  it  to 
expatiate  amid  variety.  In  his  best  estate  he  is  too  little  inclined 
to  that  thoroughness  to  which  the  ancients  accustomed  them- 
selves. They  sculptured  their  thoughts  in  brass.  They  were 
precise,  exact ;  they  carved  and  embossed  with  sharp  cut  edges 
and  devices. 

There  is  neither  moral  nor  mental  injury  in  being  excited  by 
truth.  The  more  thoroughly  the  intellect  is  roused  and  kindled 


EARNESTNESS.  39 

by  a  living  verity,  the  more  intensely  it  is  affected  and  energized 
by  it,  and  the  better  it  is  for  it  and  the  man.  Without  that 
glow  that  conies  from  the  heart,  intellectual  excitement  is  of  no 
avail.  But  it  is  impossible  to  rouse  the  fury  of  the  mind,  •with- 
out a  continuous  application  of  its  energies.  The  feelings,  how- 
ever, are  shy  and  delicate,  and,  addressed  too  boisterously,  they 
^ose  tone  and  sensibility.  Yet  at  times  there  should  be  vehemence 
of  the  utmost  intensity,  energy,  vividness  and  emotion.  It  is 
the  orator  who  speaks  by  a  method.  Elocution  makes  men 
less  artificial.  It  represses  the  proud,  selfish,  narrow  style  of 
the  preacher,  rectifies  depraved  tastes,  and  excites  dormant 
energies.  Caution  must  be  taken  not  to  pervert  these  efforts. 
Some  do  not  approve  of  much  emotion  in  the  pulpit,  but  ear- 
nestness is  the  language  of  sincerity.  Some  adhere  to  their  par- 
ticular manner  because  natural  to  them,  but  it  is  very  plastic  and 
can  be  moulded  to  whatever  condition  the  will  determines. 
Some  will  not  easily  give  up  defects  while  they  esteem  them  as 
beauties.  Fine,  however,  is  not  beautiful ;  big  is  not  great. 

Civilization  enervates  and  brings  down  the  erect  and  heroic 
mien.  Formality  is  ruinous,  and  begets  the  marble  features. 
Repeating  by  rote  is  false. 

Elocution,  in  its  more  ample  and  liberal  signification,  is  not 
confined  to  the  mere  exercise  of  the  organs  of  speech.  It 
embraces  the  whole  theory  and  practice  of  the  exterior  demon- 
stration of  the  inward  workings  of  the  mind.  Eloquence  is  the 
soul,  or  animating  principle  of  discourse  ;  and  is  dependent  on 
intellectual  energy  and  intellectual  attainment.  Elocution  is 
the  embodying  form,  or  representative  power,  dependent  on 
exterior  accomplishment,  and  cultivation  of  the  organs.  Ora- 
tory is  the  complicated  and  vital  existence  resulting  from  the 
perfect  harmony  and  combination  of  the  two. 

The  palm  of  oratorical  perfection  is  only  to  be  grasped, — it 
is,  in  reality,  only  to  be  desired — by  aspiring  souls  and  intellects 
of  unusual  energy.  It  requires  a  persevering  toil  which  few 
can  be  willing  to  encounter  ;  a  decisive  intrepidity  of  character, 
and  an  untarnableness  of  mental  ambition  which  very  few  can 
be  expected  to  possess.  However  this  may  be,  elocutionary 


40  ACT  I  Mi    A.\D    ORATOUY. 

accomplishment  is  desirable  by  all.  Even  in  the  social  inter- 
courses of  private  life,  how  great  are  the  benefits  of  this  attain- 
ment !  How  does  it  multiply  the  sources  of  innocent  pleasure  ! 
What  a  zest  does  it  impart  to  the  highest  of  our  intellectual 
gratifications  ! 

Elocution  does  not  profess  to  create  a  vigorous  understand- 
ing, feeling,  taste,  and  genius,  but  only  to  teach  their  most 
effective  use.  There  is  a  distinction  between  art  and  artifice. 
Art  is  adaptation  ;  artifice  is  false. 

Gifted  souls  only  make  a  quicker  and  easier  intuition  of 
their  art,  but  they  ascend  the  common  way,  for  there  is  no  other. 
While  some  climb  step  by  step,  they  bound  up  with  almost  un- 
conscious effort.  Those  who  profess  to  leave  all  to  nature  are 
always  most  unnatural ;  they  have  not  only  art.  but  artifice  and 
mannerism,  and  are  more  in  bondage  to  them  than  the  true 
artist.  There  is  an  infallible  intuition  in  man's  heart  by  which 
he  detects  the  reality  or  falsehood  of  the  appearances  of  emo- 
tion, and  those  whose  feelings  are  least  sophisticated  by  artifi- 
cial culture,  even  children  and  ignorant  •  persons,  have  this 
insight  only  the  more  fully,  perhaps,  for  that  reason.  Certain 
precautions,  however,  are  necessary.  Emotion  must  not  too  far 
outrun  the  temper  of  the  audience,  lest  it  appear,  from  their 
cooler  position,  extravagance. 

Only  those  who  are  withdrawn,  during  long  seasons,  into 
the  brooding  imagination,  are  favored  with  fine  fancies,  exquis- 
ite and  delicate  or  grand  and  awful.  It  is  only  the  few  that 
can  wait  and  brood  for  a  purpose. 

It  is  a  capital  plan  by  which  to  cultivate  imagination,  to 
memorize  the  finest  specimens  of  prose  or  poetry,  so  as  to  be 
able  to  repeat  them  at  any  moment. 

If  the  poise  and  self-command  of  the  mind  is  destroyed.  the 
impression  is  that  of  weakness.  He  is  the  greatest  master  of 
persuasion  who  seems  to  have  none.  That  style  is  best  which 
ie;i>t  attracts  the  hearer's  attention'  from  the  thought  itself. 
The  finest  statue  is  that  which  appears  like  flesh.  The  finest 
pieture  seems  to  be  the  living  man. 


YOUNG    SPEAKERS.  41 

The  moment  an  ornament  is  introduced  needlessly,  it  be- 
comes a  deformity.  The  rule  of  architecture  is  that,  while 
every  essential  member  shall  be  proportioned,  to  be  ornamental, 
no  ornament  shall  be  admitted  which  is  not  essential ;  no- 
bracket  which  has  nothing  to  strengthen  ;  no  column  which  has 
nothing  to  sustain. 

Hints  for  Young  Speakers. 

Keep  moderately  quiet,  or  walk  leisurely,  if  need  be,  three  or 
four  hours  before  speaking,  but  do  not  get  wearied  in  any  man- 
ner. It  is  well  to  keep  in  the  open  air  as  much  as  is  conve- 
niently possible.  Eat  substantially  at  meals,  even  the  last,  be- 
fore speaking.  Let  the  final  meal  be  taken  at  least  two  hours 
before  the  effort,  and  touch  nothing  after  that  time — not  even 
a  glass  of  water.  If  a  sense  of  thirst,  or  parched  mouth  comes 
on,  rinse  the  mouth  .several  times  and  perhaps  swallow  not  more 
than  a  table-spoonful,  but  by  no  means  ice  water.  Be  sure  and 
have  the  teeth  brushed  and  cleanly.  Sit,  not  walk  about,  at 
least  twenty  minutes  before  beginning.  Do  not  talk  to  people 
before  speaking — but  think  to  self — rub  hands  to  warm  them. 
Before  audience,  pause — no  hurry — easy  and  definite.  Stand 
still  generally — reason  the  language,  modulate  gestures  to  mean- 
ing, and  warm  into  subject  gradually. 

Extract  from  Cicero  de  Oratore,  55  B.  O. 

All  the  emotions  which  nature  has  given  to  man  must  be  in- 
timately known  ;  for  all  the  force  and  art  of  speaking  must  be 
employed  in  allaying  or  exciting  the  feelings  of  those  who  listen, 
It  requires  the  utmost  labor  to  form  look,  voice,  gesture. 

The  better  qualified  a  man  is  to  speak,  the  more  he  fears  the 
difficulties,  the  uncertain  success,  and  the  expectations  of  an 
audience.  I  frequently  turn  pale  in  the  outset  of  my  speech 
and  feel  a  tremor  through  my  whole  thoughts  and  limbs. 

One  must  have  the  acuteness  of  the  logicians,  the  wisdom  of 
the  philosophers,  language  almost  of  poetry,  memory  of  lawyers, 
voice  of  tragedians,  and  the  gesture  of  the  best  actors.  The 
highest  possible  excellence. 


42  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

Energetic  oratory  is  not  always  desirable  ;  but  often  smooth, 
submissive,  gentle. 

Affected  by  the  same  sensations  you  wish  to  produce,  First 
consider  whether  the  cause  requires  that  the  minds  of  the  audi- 
ence should  be  excited  ;  do  not  act  tragedy  about  trifles.  The 
orator  should  be  moderate  in  imitation,  that  the  audience  may 
conceive  more  than  they  can  see  represented  by  him.  It  should 
be  gently  at  first  to  husband  strength  and  grace.  I  constantly 
declaimed  in  private  with  some  acquaintance.  I  attended  the 
instructions  of  Molo,  who  came  to  Rome.  My  body  was  ex- 
ceedingly weak  and  emaciated  ;  my  neck  was  long  and  slender. 
It  gave  alarm  to  my  friends,  as  I  used  to  speak  without  remission 
or  variation,  with  the  utmost  stretch  of  my  voice,  and  a  total 
agitation  of  my  body.  I  travelled  in  Asia,  merely  for  an  oppor- 
tunity of  correcting  my  manner  of  speaking.  I  was  attended 
by  the  principal  orators  of  the  country.  Not  contented  with 
them  I  went  to  Rhodes,  and  applied  myself  again  to  Molo.  I 
returned  a  new  man.  The  vehemence  of  my  voice  and  action 
was  considerably  abated ;  the  excessive  ardor  of  my  language 
was  corrected,  my  lungs  were  strengthened,  and  my  whole 
constitution  confirmed  and  settled. 

Extract  from  Quintillian. 

The  chief  requisite  to  move  is  to  be  moved,  not  mere  assump- 
tion of  grief.  It  is  ridiculous  if  not  from  mind.  Give  color  by 
having  it.  Imagination  is  the  means.  Seem  to  see.  It  is 
readily  acquired.  It  comes  from  reflection.  Actors  actually 
weeping.  Depend  not  on  teachers  but  self.  Study  early  and 
late.  Re-iterate.  Grow  pale  with  toil.  Exert  own  powers, 
own  method,  not  merely  principles,  but  have  them  to  act  on  ; 
not  as  if  taught,  but  born  in  us.  Art  can  show  the  way  if  there 
is  one.  It  is  to  know  how  to  use  resources.  Not  merely  com- 
bination of  phrases  but  all  of  a  piece.  It  requires  the  utmost 
teaching,  must  be  pursued  in  a  manly  spirit.  The  best  is  the 
least  far-fetched  ;  simple,  as  from  truth  itself.  Anxiety  for  ap- 
plause one's  last  concern.  Those  who  listen  with  pleasure  are 
the  most  attentive.  Some  may  even  please  and  yet  not  be  un- 


FSOJI   qi'IXTILLIAN.  43 

derstood.  Not  too  an.rioitx.  A  speaker  should  carry  confi- 
dence in  his  manner,  and  speak  as  if  he  had  the  greatest  assur- 
ance of  success.  Cicero's  extraordinary  affectation  of  security 
was  like  security  itself.  One  should  not  attempt  tears  unless 
having  great  capability  ;  if  it  fails  it  is  vapid.  Measure  strength. 
•Gradually  rise,  for  whatever  adds  nothing,  seems  even  to  take 
away.  The  whole  art  presents  nothing  that  requires  greater 
.study  than  the  nature  of  the  feelings.  The  life  and  soul  of 
eloquence  is  shown  by  the  effect  produced  on  them.  Constant 
practice  is  the  most  efficient  mode  of  learning.  There  is  oratory 
in  an  orator  even  when  silent.  A  perfect  orator  can  be  formed 
•only  with  the  aid  of  art  and  nature.  Nature  can  do  much  with- 
out learning  ;  but  learning,  nothing  without  nature.  When 
both  moderate,  nature  is  best ;  but  finished  orators  owe  most  to 
.art.  Nature  is  the  material.  Art  forms,  nature  is  formed.  Art 
nothing  without  nature.  Nature  has  a  value,  but  perfection  of 
art  is  greater  than  perfection  of  nature.  Nature  gave  origin  to 
speech,  but  observation  gave  origin  to  art. 

Eloquence  is  not  to  be  paraded.  To  avoid  suspicion  of  art  is 
the  achievement  of  the  highest  art. 

Some  dislike  the  silence  of  an  attentive  auditory,  and  do  not 
think  themselves  eloquent  unless  through  noise  and  vociferation. 
'They  consider  that  to  state  a  matter  calmly  belongs  to  every-day 
•conversation,  and  is  in  the  power  of  even  the  most  illiterate. 
Audiences  are  often  disturbed  by  a  multiplicity  of  other 
thoughts,  which  will  prevent  them  from  understanding  us,  un- 
less what  we  say  be  so  clear  that  its  sense  will  strike  the  mind 
as  the  rays  of  the  sun  strike  the  eyes,  even  though  our  attention 
is  not  fixed  upon  it.  We  must  take  care  not  merely  that  they 
may  understand  us,  but  that  they  may  not  be  able  to  mis-under- 
stand us.  Changes  of  countenance  and  expressive  glances  of  the 
•eye  add  effect,  but  a  perpetual  moulding  into  studied  configura- 
tions or  perpetual  agitations  of  forehead  and  eyes  is  ridiculous. 
Nothing  attains  its  full  strength  without  art ;  and  beauty  always 
accompanies  art.  The  spear  hurled  with  the  greatest  effect  is 
.also  hurled  with  the  most  grace.  The  surer  the  aim  of  those 
who  direct  arrows  from  a  bow,  the  finer  are  their  attitudes. 

Nothing  can  enter  fairly  into  the  mind  which   gives  offence 


44  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

as  it  passes  into  the  ear,  which  is  as  it  were  the  vestibule  of  the 
mind.  We  are  adapted  by  nature  to  feel  pleasure  in  harmony. 
There  is  a  hidden  power  in  mere  melody  and  modulation,  ami 
there  must  surely  be  the  utmost  force  in  the  music  of  eloquence. 
The  greatest  judge  is  the  ear,  which  is  sensible  of  what  fills  it, 
misses  something  in  what  is  defective,  is  offended  with  what  is 
harsli,  soothed  with  what  is  compact,  marks  what  is  lame,  and 
dislikes  whatever  is  redundant  and  superfluous.  The  learned 
understand  it,  the  illiterate  enjoy  it. 

The  rhythm  of  our  language  must  correspond  with  our  sub- 
ject ;  sublime,  march  majestically ;  calm,  advance  leisurely ; 
spirited,  run  ;  tender,  flow. 

Language  should  be  even  rough  and  harsh,  rather  than  ex- 
cessively delicate.  Comedy  is  not  tragedy,  yet  in  all  something 
in  common. 

General  Habits. 

Every  tone,  glance,  and  gesture  should  manifest  how  deeply 
the  speaker  is  penetrated.  He  should  have  a  commanding  at- 
titude, untiring  zeal,  an  air  of  authority,  and  give  sudden 
bursts  of  eloquence  to  carry  by  assault.  One  acquires  such 
power  by  reading  less  and  meditating  more,  and  in  happy  mo- 
ments when  the  heart  is  all  on  fire,  seizing  those  feelings  and 
turning  them  to  the  best  account ;  and  when  the  soul  is  full  to 
overflowing  and  seeks  to  give  expression  to  the  sentiments  with 
which  it  is  penetrated,  noting  them  down,  for  such  times  are 
worth  hours  of  labor  ;  but  they  are  sometimes  brought  on  by 
working  at  a  subject  for  a  long  time. 

Confidence  in  one's  powers  and  deliberation  in  effort  will 
win  one  by  one  to  listen  until  all  hearts  beat  in  unison.  This 
silent,  pulsating  interest  is  most  to  be  desired. 

Be  simple  in  beginning  or  the  icy  thought  will  come  that 
you  are  failing,  and  this  will  paralyze.  It  will  be  talk  to  no- 
purpose  ;  command  will  be  lost,  and  you  will  long  to  come  to 
an  end.  The  audience  will  become  restive,  for  they  are  also 
tortured  and  will  rejoice  as  you  finish.  As  you  progress  read  in 
the  eyes  of  your  audience  whether  they  understand  you.  Men, 


GENERAL  HABITS.  45 

of  great  talent  often  fail  from  lack  of  feeling.  The  true  must 
be  alive  to  the  finger  nails. 

It  must  be  to  keep  the  one  weighty  idea  in  the  mind  and  all 
the  rest  subordinate.  It  must  not  be  merely  as  reading,  but  as 
through  a  prism,  with  all  the  delicate  and  mingling  hues.  It 
should  be  sensitiveness  to  the  throbbings  of  the  heart,  not  equi- 
distant cadences,  and  even  in  mirth  to  be  reckless.  It  must  be 
to  address  the  whole  audience  with  as  much  apparent  ease  as  if 
but  one  person.  It  should  all  be  done  with  free  vibrations  in 
the  resonant  cavities,  and  all  vocalized  ;  with  great  quantities 
of  air,  and  lungs  well  expanded  ;  then  speaking  is  easier  for 
there  is  less  expenditure  of  vital  force.  And  it  is  surprising 
with  all  the  breath  utilized  how  little  is  needed  for  pure  tone. 
With  such  power  then  the  orator  must  seem  to  believe  what  he 
is  saying,  to  produce  the  best  effects,  for  nature  alone  assaults 
the  heart ;  force  produces  emotion  ;  art  plays  upon  the  fancy, 
grace  gives  only  pleasure.  Truth  transports,  drives  all  else  out 
of  the  mind. 

The  man  who  is  tenderly  alive  to  the  beauties  of  expression, 
on  whose  ear  an  ill-constructed  or  ill-expressed  sentence  grates, 
will  be  far  more  annoyed  than  one  who  merely  hears  and  has  no 
further  thought  than  knowing  what  is  said. 

When  the  orator  appears  like  an  actor  his  influence  is  unfelfc. 
But  when  he  has  acquired  a  quick,  strong  sensibility  to  the  best 
interests  of  men  he  will  have  tenderness  to  soften  to  manly  tears 
and  pathos  ;  and  such  a  one  ought  never  to  be  ashamed  of 
having  a  big  swollen  heart. 

Conceit  or  mean  passion  for  popularity  is  fatal ;  it  will  leave 
one  desolate  when  least  expected.  One  should  always  be  true 
to  self. 

Expression  is  like  contemplating  the  waves  of  the  ocean, 
borne  mountain  high,  or  the  heavens,  spanned  with  lustrous 
rainbows.  It  is  of  a  life-time  and  every  day  new  difficulties. 

Eespect  your  audience  by  preparation  and  they  will  respect 
you.  By  no  means  be  unprepared.  When  the  subject  is  com- 
pletely in  the  mind  you  can  afford  to  remain  calm  till  the  mo- 
ment comes  even  amid  distraction.  If  possible,  you  should  keep 


46  .i  '••/•/.  y<;  A.\D  ORATORY. 


in  solitude  prior  to  effort  ;  you  can  by  such  means  acquire  the 
repose  of  self-conscious  power. 

Fear,  if  it  does  not  paralyze,  is  salutary,  but  woe  to  him  who- 
experiences  none,  for  it  shows  him  to  be  unconscious  of  the 
greatness  of  his  art.  One  of  the  most  celebrated  French  gen- 
erals was  always  obliged  to  dismount  before  going  into  battle, 
after  which  he  rushed  like  a  lion  into  action.  This  fear  must  not 
be  that  of  too  much  self-esteem,  but  blended  with  love  of  truth. 
A  true  speaker  must  have  that  dread  that  cannot  be  analyzed. 
There  is  hardly  a  public  speaker  of  celebrity  but  what  feels 
nervous  every  time  he  rises  to  speak  on  a  great  occasion.  Actors 
feel  the  same  in  a  new  part.  The  very  delicacy  of  perception,. 
the  exquisite  sensibility  to  impressions,  and  the  impulsiveness,. 
which  are  the  soul  of  eloquence,  are  almost  necessarily  accom- 
panied by  a  certain  degree  of  nervousness.  Some  so  constituted 
fail,  while  a  mere  parrot  of  a  person,  with  little  culture  is  cer- 
tain to  succeed.  To  await  the  moment  with  calm  self-confi- 
dence is  very  difficult,  but  it  can  be  learned.  It  is  not  to  be 
bold,  but  courageous  and  swift.  It  should  be  fear  and  love,. 
with  openness  and  reality. 

You  should  engrave  your  discourse  in  your  memory,  and 
take  great  care  lest  you  lose  the  faculty,  for  it  will  prove  fatal 
otherwise.  Idleness  will  paralyze  talent. 

If  agitated  you  lose  your  force.  Calm  is  sovereignly  neces- 
sary. Even  organic  calm  should  be  well  understood,  for  a  very 
little  paralyzes. 

There  are  innumerable  occasions  where  it  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  speak  on  the  instant.  One  should  not  be  unprepared 
for  these  sudden  calls.  He  must  acquire  an  ample  store  of  the 
best  language,  and  perhaps  writing  much  is  really  the  best 
means  to  further  this  end.  Habit  and  exercise  will,  besides, 
beget  facility. 

Then,  when  actually  before  an  audience,  slower,  suspensive 
enunciation,  as  if  choosing  the  most  appropriate  and  fitting 
words,  gives  time  for  consideration.  After  starting.,  one  can, 


PREPARATION.  47 

if  need  be,  lash  into  fury  to  increase  excitement  where  desired. 
When  well  prepared  you  can  readily  do  so,  for  what  is  well  in  the 
memory  becomes  judgment  and  proves  a  balance  to  excitement. 

Mastery  of  the  subject  beforehand  allows  the  speaker  to 
throw  all  his  power  into  his  delivery.  All  must  be  foreseen  : 
Then  the  orator  forgets  everything  but  the  subject.  When  the 
matter  is  not  perfectly  comprehended  if  not  actually  committed 
to  memory,  and  at  heart,  the  faculties  are  so  absorbed  in  the  act 
of  thinking,  and  recollection,  that  the  manner  becomes  propor- 
tionally defective.  It  should  be  command  instead  of  hesitancy. 

Even  a  reader  may  comprehend,  through  skill  and  habit,  all 
the  meaning  and  import  of  the  words,  yet  the  execution  may 
not  equal  the  conception  ;  and  even  the  best  reading  must  fall 
short  of  speaking  or  memorization.  The  more  familiar  the 
words  the  better  for  either  reading  or  speaking.  Conception 
comes  from  study  ;  execution  from  practice. 

Expression  of  the  hands  is  almost  equal  to  the  language  ; 
they  speak  themselves.  The  gestures  and  facial  movements 
should  speak,  as  well  as  the  voice,  but  gestures  should  never  be 
made  unless  impelled  by  the  soul  and  in  proportion  to  that  im- 
pulse ;  movements  would  then  be  less  frequent,  but  more 
effective.  They  would  seem  like  necessity  if  one  studied  from 
within  and  moved  only  when  by  an  absolute  demand  from  pent- 
up  feeling.  In  conversation  the  face  lights  up  and  expands,  the 
eyes  radiate  and  glance  ;  public  effort  should  be  the  same.  It 
should  all  be  with  such  an  awful  air  of  severe  simplicity,  and 
unaffected  worth  as  commands  belief  ;  every  thought  transpa- 
rent ;  every  word,  look,  motion  the  picture  of  the  mind  with 
influence  peculiar  to  itself.  This  is  difficult  to  define,  difficult 
to  comprehend. 

It  must  be  character.  A  known  zeal  for  right  and  truth  as 
well  as  magnetism,  and  voice,  and  address.  Not  what  is  said, 
but  what  a  man  ?'x.  The  heartfelt  appeals  of  a  man  whose  life 
has  exemplified  his  sentimentSj  and  who  is  willing  to  give  his 
life,  if  need  be,  in  defence  of  them.  The  more  a  habit  is  formed 
of  revolving  thoughts  and  ascertaining  truth,  the  less  eager  are 
we  to  make  instant  proclamation  of  feelings  and  ideas.  It  is 


48  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

not  the  frantic  man  with  his  low,  crude  passion,  true  as  it  may 
be,  that  appeals  fitly  to  cultivated  minds. 

The  Greeks  were  never  ashamed  of  nature,  yet  always  secure 
from  being  overcome  by  it.  His  deeper  and  correcter  intellect 
permitted  him  to  distinguish  the  contingent,  which  a  bad  taste 
would  magnify,  from  the  necessary.  All,  in  man,  that  is  not 
humanity  is  contingent.  The  sculptor  throws  aside  the  vest- 
ment, the  contingent,  and  shows  us  only  the  naked  figure  ;  not 
actual  life,  not  princes,  but  men.  The  laws  of  need  are  not  the 
laws  of  art.  Men  are  concealed  by  garments. 

The  eloquent  man  is  not  he  with  a  beautiful  speech,  but  he 
who  is  inwardly  and  desperately  drunk  with  a  certain  belief, 
agitating  and  tearing,  till  it  comes  from  him  in  torrents  of 
meaning.  The  possession  of  his  mind  is  so  entire  that  it  is 
nature  itself.  Add  to  it  a  certain  regnant  calmness,  which,  in 
all  the  tumult,  is  never  premature,  and  he  stands  as  a  demoniacal 
power  to  whose  secret  no  one  has  the  key.  It  is  the  grasp  of  a 
lion,  the  will  of  a  king.  True  love  of  art  is  insensible  to  opin- 
ion of  others;  is  anxious  for  opportunity;  confident  of  the 
result. 

A  great  orator,  for  a  great  occasion,  may  con  and  learn  by 
rote  his  ideas  and  language,  and  yet  he  finds  it  impossible  to 
make  them  run  in  the  groove  he  had  intended.  When  he  is  swept 
onward  in  spite  of  himself,  the  arguments  he  had  most  carefully 
studied  are  replaced  by  others  more  vivid,  and  sentiments  which 
he  could  not  have  originated  in  his  cooler  moments,  flash  inces- 
santly on  his  brain,  and  he  is  completely  transfigured  to  the 
hearers.  Not  so  to  the  speaker  who  owes  all  his  power  to  art. 
He  is  not  stung  into  eloquence  by  the  impulses  of  his  being,  yet 
even  he  may  be  considered  a  great  speaker.  The  one  is  total 
oblivion  of  self,  and  utter  abandon  to  the  subject, — the  other 
self-conscious  as  to  all  he  utters. 

Some  clergymen  write  everything  to  be  spoken  ;  as  if  speak- 
ing it,  at  least  in  feeling,  if  not  in  actual  sounds,  with  an 
audience  glaring  in  their  faces.  Hence  they  have  all  the  verve 
of  extempore  speech.  Others  have  the  chilliness  and  lukewarm- 
ness  of  persons  who  are  not  interested  in  what  they  have 
written. 


COMPREHEXSirE  EDUCATION.  49 


Education. 

The  mind  demands  variety  of  discipline  or  it  becomes  con- 
tracted. Nothing  conduces  more  to  breadth  and  originality 
than  opposite  associations.  The  more  comprehensive  the  edu- 
cation then,  the  better.  It  is  the  lack  of  this  that  has  kept 
down  the  stage.  But  emotional  expression  should  be  the  out- 
crop of  this  culture  as  a  whole,  and  not  ''  the  cut  and  dried" 
product  of  inelastic  rules.  In  the  vast  majority  of  cases  where 
the  latter  is  attempted  the  consequence  is  almost  invariably 
fatal  to  spontaneity.  It  makes  automata  of  living  men. 

Acting,  as  distinct  from  oratory,  is  very  much  an  affair  of  the 
imagination,  and  imagination  can  hardly  be  drilled  into  one  by 
rules.  Neither  an  actor  nor  an  orator,  perhaps,  can  be  made,  but 
a  person  can  be  taught,  and  can  acquire  facility  of  expression. 
Imagination  with  capability  may  be  drilled  into  facility  of  ex- 
pression, but  the  imagination  is  the  groundwork,  the  founda- 
tion, to  rear  culture  upon.  The  very  purport  of  outward  ex- 
pression is  to  teach  what  passes  in  the  mind. 

To  make  an  audience  simply  hear  is  one  thing,  but  to  make 
people  listen  is  quite  a  different  affair.  This  latter  is  effected 
by  one's  speaking  as  from  a  sense  of  duty.  There  is  no  effort 
to  talk  or  listen  with  "  the  sympathetic  voice."  It  seizes  and 
holds.  It  comes  from  vividness  and  benevolence.  Its  tones 
are  generally  lower  and  seem  to  come  from  the  heart.  It  is 
the  voice  of  affection  and  has  a  conversational  strain. 

Entire  spontaneity  comes  from  previous  study. 

It  is  preparation,  and  cannot  be  too  much  studied.  It  is  a 
living  comment  upon  what  is  uttered. 

Petty  vanity  does  not  acknowledge  the  meatis  and  conceals 
the  steps  by  which  it  rises.  One  should  entirely  forget  self,  and 
as  in  good  manners  please  and  instruct ;  not  desire  to  display 
mere  power  but  rather  give  the  meaning.  It  should  be  with 
a  confidence  and  a  doubt  also.  The  bullets  are  sure  to  hit  the 


50  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

mark,  if  they  have  first  been  dipped  in  the  huntsman's  blood. 
The  feelings  of  a  true  actor  reach  our  hearts  because  they  issue 
from  his.  He  forgets  himself  and  feels  only  his  character.  So 
likewise  with  the  orator,  he  feels  only  the  truth. 

PRACTICAL    SUGGESTIVE. 

All  processes  of  instruction  are  mechanical,  and  the  more  so 
the  better.  Due  honor  must  be  given  to  that  irksome  labor 
which  is  inseparable  from  the  highest  art.  The  necessary  dex- 
terities have  to  be  acquired  up  to  a  professional  standard  before 
you  can,  properly  speaking,  produce  anything  at  all  :  and  they 
are  learnt  by  labor  which  is  only  not  servile  by  reason  of  its 
hopes. 

A  mind  of  the  highest  order  does  not  want  a  master  contin- 
ually at  his  elbow  to  explain  difficulties.  He  is  receptive  at 
every  pore.  He  learns  from  passing  hints,  with  a  quickness 
and  thoroughness  that  others  cannot  comprehend.  He  is  om- 
nivorous of  intellectual  work,  taking  in  a  vast  deal  more  than 
he  can  utilize,  but  extracting  a  small  percentage  of  nutriment, 
that  makes,  in  the  aggregate,  an  enormous  supply.  The  best 
way  is  to  leave  such  alone  in  a  great  measure,  just  directing  a 
little  here  and  there,  checking  desultory  tendencies,  and  per- 
haps slightly  exaggerating  their  faults  in  order  to  better  remove 
them. 

The  greatest  thing  a  human  soul  can  do  is  to  see  and  tell 
what  it  saw  in  a  plain  way.  To  see  clearly  is  poetry,  prophecy. 
Those  who  are  born  with  powers  that  will  make  them  eminent, 
it  is  sufficient  to  have  them  see.  They  do  not  want  mere  in- 
struction, and  those  that,  do  are  not  worth  it.  Art  may  be 
learned,  but  cannot  be  taught.  The  great  art  is  to  teach  others 
to  teach  themselves  ;  to  let  them  do  the  work,  but  if  they  can- 
not acquire  keenness  and  rapidity  of  judgment  to  see  at  once 
the  power  of  an  idea,  they  will  only  be  mechanical. 

The  most  illustrious  have  frequently  broken  loose  from  pre- 
scription of  forms  and  followed,  careless  of  cost,  the  paramount 
dictation  of  their  own  natures  ;  in  short  they  have  educated 
themselves,  by  their  own  rules. 


FREEDOM  AND    CONTROL.  51 

A  celebrated  artist  was  in  the  habit  of  reading  some  work 
while  his  pupils  painted,  being  only  occasionally  corrected. 

One  by  practice  of  principles  may  master  an  art  in  a  little 
time  that  cost  artists  their  lives  to  develop.  But,  it  is  an  art, 
and  no  easy  art,  to  know  how  to  choose  and  select.  The  highest 
form  is  taken  from  nature  but  it  takes  experience  to  find  it  out. 
It  is  renewed  by  principles.  Art  is  not  ostentatious  :  it  lies 
hid,  and  works  its  effects,  itself  unseen.  One  can  find  out  and 
form  its  principles  for  self  by  continual  exertion  of  the  mind. 
One  can  learn  to  invent  them  by  observing  the  invention  of 
others.  Nothing  comes  by  chance,  but  all  by  rules.  It  is  the 
concealing  of  art,  which  is  one  of  its  best  beauties,  and  this  can 
be  best  accomplished  by  discerning  it  under  all  its  disguises. 
It  must  not  be  too  fastidious  or  it  may  destroy  character.  Prin- 
ciples may  be  felt  in  the  mind  if  not  expressed  in  words.  The 
mind  must  be  put  on  the  train  of  the  idea  to  be  expressed. 
Principles  are  to  be  as  a  guide,  not  model,  in  a  general  way, 
and  then,  each  is  to  be  left  to  his  own  individual  tendency. 

A  great  musician  once  said  of  a  passionless  cantatrice,  •'*  She 
sings  well,  but  she  wants  something,  and  in  that  something, 
everything.  If  I  were  single,  I  would  court  her ;  I  would 
marry  her ;  I  would  maltreat  her  ;  I  would  break  her  heart ; 
and  in  six  months  she  would  be  the  greatest  singer  in  Europe." 
Suffering  is  our  best  school. 

A  pupil  must  not  be  carried  up  the  Alps  of  knowledge. 
He  must  think  for  himself  if  he  wishes  success,  and  of  himself 
if  he  wishes  to  be  great. 

All  freedom,  however,  is  error.  Try  to  draw  a  circle  with 
the  "free"  hand.  You  cannot  if  your  hand  trembles,  or  hesi- 
tates, or  is  unmanageable,  or  is  in  the  common  sense  of  the  term 
'•'free."  It  must  be  under  control  as  absolute  as  steel ;  and  yet 
move  under  this  control,  with  perfect  serenity  of  ease.  It  is  to 
be  right,  or — wrong.  If  right  it  is  not  a  "free"  line,  but  an 
intensely  continent,  restrained  and  considered  line.  A  fine 
artist's  line  is  measurable  in  its  proposed  direction  to  less  than 
the  thousandth  of  an  inch. 

The  common  ideas  about  freedom  are  the  results  of  imper- 
fect education.  The  effort,  however,  to  break  through  timidity, 


5'^  Am.\<i    AM)    ORATOKY. 

or  to  refine  blunrncss,  may  lead  to  licentious  impetuosity,  or 
ostentatious  minuteness.  In  the  greatest  work  there  is  no  man- 
ner visible.  It  is  not  agony  of  science.  It  is  work  in  which 
•the  soul  is  made  visible. 

It  is  drill  till  it  is  so  familiar  that  it  ceases  to  be  a  matter  of 
thought.  In  acting  words  must  be  recited  many  times  before 
expression  becomes  thoroughly  mellowed.  One  cannot  under- 
stand the  truth  of  anything  until  it  has  sunk  so  far  into  him  as 
to  almost  forget  from  whence  it  came. 

Intellectual  knowledge  is  to  be  prized,  but  practical  knowl- 
edge is  necessary  to  make  it  available. 

It  is  passion  which  is  the  moving  power ;  brains  fired  by  a 
strong  will. 

One  not  to  be  disconcerted  has  reserve  of  power  even  when 
he  has  hit  the  mark.  And  the  least  sensation  of  power  is  re- 
ceived from  the  most  perfect  work.  The  preference  is  intel- 
lectual perception.  There  is  really  greater  power  in  the  com- 
pletion than  in  the  commencement — not  so  manifest  to  senses, 
but  in  influence  on  the  mind.  Not  the  keenest  sensation  but 
the  highest  estimate.  The  first  merit  is  that  delicate  and  cease- 
less expression  of  refined  truth  which  is  carried  out  to  the  last 
touch  and  shadow  of  a  touch.  It  is  the  difference  between  com- 
mon-place and  perfectness.  The  more  unpretending,  quiet, 
and  retiring  the  means,  the  more  impressive  the  effect. 

Seemingly,  great  artists  do  their  best  work  without  labor  ; 
but  analyze  it,  and  every  detail  shows  intense  thought  and 
mathematical  exactness  of  execution,  acquired  only  by  unceas- 
ing effort.  One  cannot  read  evidence  of  labor  who  is  not  him- 
self laborious,  nor  the  evidence  of  true  passion,  if  not  passionate. 
It  is  the  patient,  indefatigable  touch  of  a  mighty  master  ;  the 
muscular  precision  of  action,  and  the  intellectual  force  of  it  by 
a  great  artist,  every  instant  governed  by  direct  and  new  inten- 
tion. It  is  muscular  force  and  subtlety  ;  instantaneously  selec- 
tive, and  ordinant  energy  of  the  brain,  sustained  all  day  long, 
not  only  without  fatigue,  but  with  a  visible  joy  in  the  execu- 
tion, like  an  eagle,  and  this  all  life  long,  through  long  life,  with 
even  increase  of  power,  requiring  such  exquisite  balance  and 
symmetry  of  vital  powers. 


FREEDOM  AND    CONTROL.  53 

Health  is  the  condition  of  wisdom,  and  the  sign  is  cheerful- 
ness, an  open  and  noble  temper.  All  beauty  warms  the  heart. 
The  good  mind  chooses  what  is  positive,  what  is  advancing, 
embraces  the  affirmative.  We  know  the  spirit  by  its  victorious 
tone.  A  man  is  a  man,  only  as  he  makes  life  and  nature  hap- 
pier to  others ;  and  in  serving  others  one  serves  oneself.  We 
should  set  down  nothing  that  will  not  help  somebody.  It  is  a 
religious  duty  to  be  happy.  We  should  learn  what  it  is  "to 
"  sing  for  joy,"  then  if  given  finished  expression,  it  is  perfected 
in  itself.  The  thorough  meaning  is  spirit,  deeper  than  art,  and 
its  full  charm  is  possible  only  to  the  gentle.  It  is  sympathy, 
sincerity,  kindliness.  It  comes  from  opulence  of  health,  a  sus- 
tained and  abounding  physical  vigor  generally. 

Men  fail  of  success  from  early  exhaustion,  from  a  lack  of 
accumulated  force,  physical  or  mental,  from  a  lack  of  reserved 
power,  for  nothing  is  sure  to  happen  but  the  unseen,  and  for 
which  one  must  be  prepared.  This  implies  the  necessity  of  a 
thorough  training.  It  should  be  perfect  ease  at  first  and  not 
attempt  much  power,  and  even  though  thin  at  beginning  strength 
will  come.  Power  exerted,  however  great,  never  impresses  in 
the  profoundest  degree  unless  is  felt  a  greater  power  behind. 
Nobody  is  thrilled  to  his  being's  core  by  power  that  is  draining 
itself  to  the  dregs.  There  must  be  something  behind  that  is 
greater.  It  is  not  what  is  said  but  what  the  power.  It  is  the 
play  of  the  art,  whatever  it  is,  not  the  labor. 

Generally,  the  action  should  not  be  passionate  but  affection- 
ate ;  it  should  never  betray  the  fire  kindled,  but  be  animated  by 
that  mild,  clear  warmth  which  accompanies  all  that  springs  from 
the  inward  depths  of  the  soul.  If  the  orator  or  actor  is  wanting 
in  this,  he  is  not  likely  to  be  animated  by  an  idea ;  that  is,  he  has 
no  purpose  ;  and  he  pursues  his  task  like  a  laborer,  or  like  a  fine 
speaker. 

Affection  is  generated  by  a  stronger  activity  of  the  reason,  in 
which  there  can  be  no  excess,  and  the  calmer  thought  must  ever 
lead  back  to  its  proper  limits.  Passion  rnay  become  too  strong. 
Affection  need  prescribe  no  limits. 

To  a  thinking  mind  comes  the  disagreeable  feeling  of  disap- 
probation toward  a  cunning  art  which  understands  how  to  move 


54  ACTIXG   AND    ORATORY. 

men  like  machines,  and  to  a  judgment  which  upon  culm  after- 
thought, ic  must  lose  all  its  worth  with  them.  Oratory,  consid- 
ered as  the  art  of  making  use  of  the  weaknesses  of  men.  is  worthy 
of  no  respect  at  all. 

Dilettanti  take  hold  of  art  on  the  weak  side.  With  them  it 
is  an  immediate  wish  to  do.  It  is  passion  instead  of  earnestness. 
Such  do  no  good,  but  instead  much  harm.  Art  gives  laws  and 
commands  the  time. 

The  effect  the  dilettant  supposes  to  be  the  thing  itself,  and 
he  tries.  He  takes  the  passive  for  the  active.  His  peculiar 
want  is  the  architectonic,  in  the  highest  sense, — that  practical 
power  which  creates.  Of  this  he  has  only  a  misgiving,  and 
submits  to  his  material  instead  of  commanding  it.  He  runs  to 
neatness,  the  completion  which  is  formless. 

The  true  artist  rests  firmly  and  securely  on  himself.  His  is 
the  highest  aim  of  art.  In  his  own  estimation  he  is  far  from 
his  aim,  and  therefore  he  is  modest.  The  dilettant  has  no  aim. 
It  is  not  the  beyond,  but  near ;  exalting  himself.  He  shuns 
principles  to  come  at  once  to  practice  ;  confounds  art  with  ma- 
terial. He  is  curious  in  artifice,  manner,  modes  of  working  and 
mechanical  dexterity,  and  mere  tricks.  He  would  be  of  conse- 
quence. The  artist  has  an  unconditional  interest  in  art.  It  is 
devotion.  The  dilettant  has  only  half.  It  is  all  pastime  ;  some 
by-object ;  some  propensity. 

There  should  be  an  aesthetic  significance  of  movements.  The 
dilettant  jumps  over  and  stops  at  certain  steps  which  he  regards 
as  the  end.  He  works  by  false  rules,  because  he  must  have  some, 
and  does  not  understand  the  true  objective  rules.  It  takes  its 
element  from  art.  The  loss  is  greater.  It  is  indifferent,  par- 
tial, characterless.  It  brings  artists  to  their  level.  It  is  mere 
sentiment ;  fantastic  nullity. 

The  reigning  error  is  to  be  free  from  restraint  in  aesthetic 
fancy.  Men  must  have  free  scope,  producing  effects  with  mere 
outside  appearances.  Mistaken  dilettantic  dexterity  for  true 
art  weakens  feeling  and  perception  for  the  good  beyond.  It 
neglects  the  (indispensable)  mechanical,  and  shows  only  mind 


DILETTANTI.  55 

and  feeling,  or  shows  the  mechanical,  technical  dexterity  with- 
out spirit  or  significance.  The  one  injures  art,  the  other  the 
subject.  Dilettanti  enervate  and  pull  to  pieces  all  originality  in 
manner,  and  imitate,  copy  and  piece  out  their  emptiness  with 
it.  All  that  is  true  and  beautiful  is  profaned,  degraded. 

The  infallible  test  of  the  mere  dilettant  from  the  artist  is, 
that  he  mistakes  the  dark  for  the  profound ;  the  rude  for  the 
powerful;  the  indefinite  for  the  infinite;  the  senseless  for  the 
supersensuous ;  and  he  plumes  himself.  Obdurate  criticism 
destroys  legerdemain  of  the  heated  imagination,  and  sheds  a 
light  down  the  deep  shaft  of  experience.  If,  however,  nature 
has  stamped  him  only  for  a  dilettant,  difficulty  cools  his  zeal; 
the  laboriousness  of  the  means  disgusts  him.  -The  great  in- 
creases only  from  unseemly  trifles.  The  genuine  artist  in  the 
most  glowing  feeling  for  totality  preserves  coldness  and  endur- 
ing patience  for  the  partial,  and  rather  sacrifices  the  delight  of 
consummation,  lest  it  should  mar  perfection.  It  is  not  exclu- 
sively beauty,  but  sense  and  reason,  or  the  end  is  a  depraved 
heart.  Independence  from  every  influence  of  sensuous  im- 
pulses ennobles  desire  and  harmonizes  with  reason. 

All  great  art  is  didactic  in  the  purest  way,  indirectly  and 
occultly,  so  that,  first,  you  shall  only  be  bettered  by  it  if  you  are 
already  hard  at  work  in  bettering  yourself ;  and  when  you  are 
bettered,  it  shall  be  partly  with  a  general  acceptance  of  their 
influence,  so  constant  and  subtle  that  you  shall  be  no  more  con- 
scious of  it  than  of  the  healthy  digestion  of  food  ;  and  partly  by 
a  gift  of  some  unexpected  truth,  which  you  shall  find  only  by 
slow  mining  for  it ;  which  is  withheld  on  purpose,  and  close- 
locked,  that  you  may  not  get  it  till  you  have  forged  the  key  of 
it  in  a  furnace  of  your  own  heating. 

There  is  intentional  reservation  in  all  the  great  masters — 
often  a  meaning  which  they  themselves  cannot  interpret, — 
which  it  may  be  for  others  long  after  them  to  interpret. — in 
what  they  said  or  did,  so  far  as  it  recorded  true  imaginative 
vision. 

The  first  of  requirements,  then,  for  the  right  reading  of 
such,  is  the  understanding  of  the  nature  of  all  true  vision  by 
noble  persons  ;  namely,  that  it  is  founded  on  constant  laws  com- 


56  ACT/M;  A.\I>  on  A  mm: 

mon  to  all  human  nature  ;  that  it  perceives,  however  darkly, 
tilings  which  are  for  all  ages  true  ;  that  we  can  understand  it  so- 
far  as  we  have  some  perception  of  the  same  truth  ;  and  that  its 
fulness  is  developed  and  manifested  more  and  more  by  the  re- 
vi •  iteration  of  it  from  minds  of  the  same  mirror- temper,  in  suc- 
ceeding ages. 

The  truths  of  emotion  are  sometimes  so  interwoven  that  they 
are  all  the  more  difficult  to  read,  and  to  explain  in  any  order. 

In  proportion  to  the  kingliness  and  force  of  any  personality, 
the  expression  either  of  its  joy  or  sorrow  becomes  measured, 
chastened,  calm,  and  capable  of  interpretation  only  by  the  ma- 
jesty of  ordered,  beautiful,  and  worded  sound. 

It  is  possible  to  exercise  the  imaginative  faculty  in  an  in- 
tense and  exalted  degree  and  yet  lack  even  partial  inspiration. 
Some  seem  to  be  gifted  with  more  of  this  power  than  others. 
When  we  have  it  we  must  obey  its  dictates,  otherwise  they  will 
at  length  cease  to  move  us.  Its  sources,  rules  and  means  of  cul- 
ture are,  for  the  most  part,  quite  distinct  from,  though  not 
antagonistic  to,  those  of  intellectual  culture.  But  after  all,  of 
what  avail  is  meditation  unless  it  warms  the  heart.  When 
musing  the  fire  must  burn. 

It  must  be  cultivated  to  such  a  condition,  for  great  and  start- 
ling effects,  to  partake  even  of  the  character  of  insanity,  for  the 
insane  have  the  same  ideas,  the  same  passions,  but  the  traits 
are  stronger,  the  colors  more  vivid,  the  shades  more  marked, 
the  effects  more  startling  ;  for  man  is  then  seen  in  all  his  truth- 
fulness ;  he  does  not  dissimulate  his  thoughts  ;  he  does  not  con- 
ceal his  defects ;  his  passions  have  the  charm  of  reality  ;  there 
is  no  deception,  as  in  case  of  an  attack  of  a  lunatic  upon  some 
other  person  the  mind  is  overwhelmed  with  such  a  vast  and 
painful  emotion,  such  an  unspeakable  feeling  of  distress,  that 
the  deed  of  violence  is,  as  it  were,  an  explosion  of  it,  an  uncon- 
trollable conyulsion  of  energy  giving  utterance  to  an  indescriba- 
ble morbid  feeling,  not  knowing  what  he  is  doing,  not  from  pas- 
sion, revenge,  but  as  a  discharge  which  he  must  have  of  the 


I. MAC  I. XA'rn'E   FACULTY.  5? 

terrible  emotion  with  which  he  is  possessed.  The  act  is  as  invol- 
untary as  the  cry  of  agony  or  the  spasmodic  muscular  tension 
produced  by  intense  physical  pain.  The  emotion  is  unendura- 
ble and  the  burst  that  follows  gives  a  mighty  relief. 

The  shades  of  expression  are  often  so  delicate,  and  indistin- 
guishable, that  intonation  will  vary  according  to  the  tempera- 
ment of  the  person,  his  appreciation  of  the  sense,  and  the  in- 
tensity with  which  he  speaks. 

The  indescribable  minuteness  of  many  sensations  and  obser- 
vations makes  an  impossibility  of  seizing,  expressing  and  ana- 
lyzing them.  Sometimes  they  have  shades  of  a  hair's  breadth, 
which  are  scarcely  discernible  to  the  inexperienced  and  it  is  not 
possible  to  render  the  idea  in  words  with  precision.  One  can 
feel,  but  not  explain  them.  It  is  inward  criticism  ;  essence,  in- 
visible power  ;  mind, — the  incomprehensible  principle  of  life. 

One  must  cultivate  this  delicate,  swift,  certain,  most  exten- 
sive spirit  of  observation  ;  have  a  clear,  profound  understanding  ; 
a  most  lively,  strong,  comprehensive  imagination  ;  a  profound 
knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  and  manners  of  men.  One- 
must  inspect  and  know  self  to  know  others  ;  must  know  own 
heart;  must  have  intercourse  with  all  manner  of  men,  vicious 
and  virtuous,  wise  and  foolish  ;  particularly  be  on  good  terms 
with  children.  He  must  also  have  a  wide  knowledge  of  litera- 
ture, painting,  art  and  artists  ;  must  have  acute  observation, 
lively  fancy,  excellent  taste  ;  a  strong,  benevolent,  enthusiastic, 
innocent  heart,  ardent  in  itself,  and  free  from  coarse  passions. 
He  must  have  magnanimous,  honorable,  sublime  ideas.  Then 
if  such  a  person  can  perform  even  the  smallest  office  with  entire- 
circumspection,  he  is  capable  of  even  the  highest. 

Some  are  like  the  modern  Italians  who  paint  every  leaf  with- 
out the  slightest  feeling  of  their  beauty  or  character,  and  with- 
out showing  a  spark  of  intellect  or  affection  from  beginning  to 
end.  With  the  best  the  result  is  divine,  they  do  the  same,  de- 
spising nothing. 

To  speak  freely  and  accurately  is  the  result  of  a  short  time  ; 


58  ACTING   AND    ORATOR!'. 

but  to' speak  delicately,  and  to  trace  the  mysteries  of  invention 
and  combination,  is  the  peculiar  province  and  faculty  of  the 
master-mind. 

One  should  learn  rather  for  a  life-time,  seriously  and  well, 
or  not  at  all.  The  temper  by  which  the  right  -taste  is  formed, 
is  characteristically  patient.  It  dwells  upon  what  is  submitted 
to  it.  It  may  be  pearls,  though  it  looks  like  husks.  It  is  au 
honest  and  a  good  heart ;  distrustful  of  self,  though  ready  to 
try  all  things.  It  has  great  pleasure  in  all  that  is  good  and 
great.  It  clasps  all  that  it  loves  so  hard  that  it  crushes  it  if  it 
be  hollow,  and  it  is  sure  of  eventually  being  right. 

True  taste  is  forever  growing,  learning,  worshipping  ;  laying 
its  hand  upon  its  mouth  because  it  is  astonished.  It  sees  good 
in  everything. 

Details. 

There  may  be  as  much  greatness  of  mind,  nobility  of  char- 
acter, in  the  treatment  of  the  smallest  as  of  the  most  vast.  It 
is  the  specific  ;  not  the  special. 

All  great  men  have  been  remarkable  for  their  attention  to 
details.  Many  are  fired  with  lofty  conceptions,  they  warm  with 
enthusiasm  in  contemplation  of  their  object  attained,  but  they 
turn  away  in  disgust  from  the  dry  minutiEe  and  drudgery  re- 
quired of  them. 

The  smallest  strokes  of  Raphael  are  worth  entire  pictures. 
It  is  the  instantaneous  line,  however,  that  shows  the  master's 
hand.  The  first  five  touches  bring  a  head  into  existence.  If 
•one  atom  of  thought  is  destroyed,  then  all  finish  and  execution 
is  too  dear. 

Truth  is  the  foundation,  imitation  the  destruction  of  art. 
Nothing  is  beautiful  that  is  not  true. 

Only  the  ignorant  despise  trifles,  and  yet  attention  to  little 
things  without  a  purpose,  without  soul,  renders  it  impossible  to 
<lo  anything  that  is  great.  Yet  still  again,  relaxing  in  the 
smallest  matters  breaks  down  the  fences  of  the  greatest.  With- 


DISTANCE.  59 

out  soul,  that  can  work  in  the  smallest  effects,  excessive  labor  in 
details  has  been  frequently  pernicious  to  the  general  effect,  even 
by  great  ones.  Finish  sometimes  is  dangerous  and  suggests  toil- 
ing merely. 

Distance. 

It  is  foolish,  however,  to  carve  what  is  to  be  seen  somewhat 
distantly,  with  the  delicacy  which  the  eye  demands  near  by  ;  not 
merely  because  it  is  lost,  but  because  it  has  a  worse  effect  in  the 
distance  than  rough  work. 

In  acting  everything  should  be  raised  and  enlarged  beyond 
the  natural,  that  the  full  effect  may  come  to  the  hearer.  The 
deliberate,  stately  step,  studied  grace,  and  swelling 'voice,  seem 
to  elevate  and  increase  one's  power.  This  unnaturalness  is 
right  and  proper  in  public,  but  ridiculous  in  private. 

Strong  colors  give  solidity.  Light  and  shade  produce  relief, 
harmony,  and  breadth.  Relief  is  most  necessary  in  large  works, 
seen  at  greater  distance  ;  prevents  seeming  harsh  or  cutting  ; 
gives  them  sharpness — clearness  of  effect  so  necessary  to  counter- 
act heaviness. 

The  chief  end  of  speech  is  to  inform  the  mind  of  the  hearer; 
that  of  engaging  the  ear  with  fanciful  modes  of  sound,  or  ex- 
pression, is  a  subordinate  one.  Propriety  is  sometimes  unat- 
tended by  elegance,  but  elegance  never  without  propriety. 

The  essence  of  vulgarity  is  pretension — false  sentiment.  It 
is  the  mock  heroic  ;  it  is  exaggerated,  not  grand.  You  should 
dare  everything  to  great  ends,  but  never  seek  to  astonish,  never 
be  presumptuous. 

Nothing  can  be  more  ridiculous  than  the  affected  airs  of 
dignity  and  importance  with  which  most  persons  recite  oratori- 
cal composition.  Others,  oftentimes  affect  ease  and  simplicity 
in  the  loftiest  and  most  dignified  language  till  it  falls  to  ab- 
surdity. Where  there  is  warmth  of  feeling  it  will  come  in  the 
most  simple  as  in  the  most  splendid  language.  By  feeling  too 
much  the  utterance  is  overcome  and  the  effect  lost. 

It  is  not  effort,  but  inward  vigor  of  the  soul  pushing  out- 


60  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

ward,  with  strong  infusion  of  nervous  energy  to  electrify  souls, 
It  is  neither  too  realistic  nor  idealistic,  but  both. 

Everything  great  comes  from  living  in  and  for  art  ;  with 
reverence,  and  delicacy  of  sensation  ;  with  large  sympathies  and 
fineness  of  nature.  Not  with  jealousy  and  self-complacency,  for 
that  is  second-rate.  Withal  you  must  have  an  ideal.  Instances 
innumerable  are  there  of  those  intending  to  be  great  in  art  who 
have  labored  year  after  year  and  yet  have  failed  because  they 
had  no  ideal,  and  no  self-criticism  with  regard  to  it.  Even  a 
limited  time  daily,  with  a  vivid  ideal,  and  self-criticism,  would, 
even  in  a  few  months,  have  given  the  most  astonishing  as- 
surances for  the  future  :  but  hours  a  day,  with  inexhaustible 
resolution  without  this  ideal,  makes  a  mere  mechanician. 

It  is  the  right  application  of  one's  swiftness  or  strength 
that  brings  success.  It  is  not  enough  to  do,  but  there  is  a  way 
and  a  time. 

Earnest  men  look  upon  difficulties  as  opportunities  but  they 
must  be  equal  to  them  by  previous  training. 

Power. 

It  is  he  who  at  every  rebuff  begins  again  that  reaches  the 
goal.  Many  die  in  obscurity  that  lack  the  pluck  to  astonish  the 
world.  Crises  confound  the  feeble  but  arouse  the  strong.  The 

o 

world  is  iron  and  a  place  must  be  hammered  out  by  rugged, 
steady  blows.  Great  enthusiasm  above  all.  There  must  be  great 
faitii  in  one's  mission,  rooted  belief,  and  success  is  almost  in- 
evitable. 

Nothing  is  done  by  great  effort,  but  by  great  power.  The 
full  energies  are  to  be  given  to  the  .vo///',s  work — but  the  body's 
and  head's  are  to  be  done  comparatively  without  effort.  Neither 
brain  nor  limbs  are  to  be  strained  ;  it  is  not  the  way  to  get  the 
most  out  of  them.  Never  furiously.  Great  things  if  done  at 
all  can  be  done  easily ;  there  is  evidence  of  ease  on  the  front  of 
the  greatest  works.  It  is  not  weariness,  but  strength,  yet 
genius  needs  to  work  ;  genius  is  far  more  reauv  to  work,  and 
gets  so  much  more  good  out  of  it.  It  is  distinguished  by  its 


POWER.  Gl 

perpetual,  steady,  well-directed,  happy  labor,  as  well  as  by  its 
gigantic  facility.  Not  agonies  nor  heart-rendings  are  of  avail ; 
and  conceit  may  puff,  but  cannot  prop. 

Constant  but  not  excessive  exercise  of  power,  as  easy  as 
walking,  running  ;  endurance  but  not  extraordinary,  that  de- 
grades. Power  is  not  meagre  lives,  and  tortures,  but  awfulness 
and  quiet.  Gigantic  powers  reaching  after  repose  and  finding 
it,  not  from  choice  but  truth.  It  should  be  the  -ability  of  de- 
veloping greater  power  to  fall  back  upon. 

The  arms  to  the  body  and  the  knotting  of  the  whole  mass 
together  is  infinitely  terrible  and  crushing.  Not  the  impression, 
but  the  image.  The  mere  type  and  suggestion,  a  certain  rude- 
ness and  incomplete  finish  is  very  noble.  Not  to  be  unnatural, 
but  pure  and  true,  with  lines  few  and  grand  as  to  appeal  to  the 
imagination  only,  and  always  short  of  the  realization.  A  man 
to  really  even  seem  to  kill  himself  or  another  upon  the  stage,  or 
to  act  so  as  to  really,  instead  of  artificially  appear  intoxicated, 
would  be  horrible  and  disgusting. 

The  sculptor  does  not  work  for  the  anatomist,  but  for  the 
common  observer.  Yet  he  may  thoroughly  understand  anatomy 
in  detail.  But  he  refines.  It  is  merely  his  means.  To  the 
anatomist  it  is  the  end  for  their  sake. 

Fortune  comes,  but  goes  if  one  is  not  ready  to  receive  her. 
It  is  not  enough,  however,  to  seize  when  she  comes,  but  to 
hold  her. 

When  you  keep  your  secret,  be  assured  the  world  will  keep 
it  for  you.  Be  not  over-sensitive — but  be  just  to  self.  Rever- 
ence yourself.  "Look  up  if  you  wish  to  rise.  Do  not  expect  the 
world's  patronage  without  seeking  it.  In  the  closet  work  to 
deserve  success.  In  the  world  put  yourself  forward,  if  you 
would  be  known  ;  the  very  reputation  is  priceless.  If  you  do 
not  aspire  to  admiration  you  will  fall  into  contempt.  You  must 
endeavor  to  seem  more  or  you  will  seem  nothing.  You  must 
set  off  good  qualities  with  a  certain  air  of  plausibility,  like 
fashion  to  decency. 

You  must  by  all  means  have  energy,  invincible  determina- 
tion, and  then  with  an  honest  purpose  once  fixed  it  should  be 
like  death  or  victorv. 


62  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 


RHYTHM. 

EH  YTHM  governs  the  universe.  A  few  familiar  examples  may 
be  cited  in  the  earth,  the  moon,  our  pulse,  a  pendulum.  It 
means  regularity,  symmetry.  In  all  things  the  law  of  numbers 
is  manifest,  symmetry  is  self-evident,  and  their  very  movements 
obey,  in  their- freedom  and  intentional  equilibrium,  an  inexorable 
rhythm.  This  regularity,  and  this  charm  proceed  from  princi- 
ples, distinct  enough,  but  very  few  in  number.  These  are  in- 
evitable and  it  is  well  to  have  a  precise  knowledge  of  them,  to 
distinguish  them,  and  reduce  them  to  their  simplest  elements. 
It  is  such  a  satisfaction  also  to  unravel  what  is  infinitely  com- 
plicated, and  reduce  all  to  a  few  points  so  that  they  shall  stand 
like  an  alphabet  to  be  used  again  in  endless  combinations. 

All  measurement  by  time,  even  the  most  scientific,  depends 
upon  rhythmic,  regularly  returning  results.  In  the  regular  in- 
terchange of  accented  and  unaccented  sounds  iu  music  and  poe- 
try we  obtain  the  rhythm.  Rhythm  is  not  the  external  alone,  it 
is  the  innermost  nature  of  its  power  of  expression,  and  gives  it 
its  distinctive  character. 

The  ear  always  expects  that  which  is  measured  and  perfect. 
If  maimed  it  is  defrauded  of  something  due.  Fair  and  comely 
words  are  more  pleasing  and  graceful.  If  measures  are  rough 
and  ill-formed  the  composition  will  be  debased.  It  is  the  rhythm 
as  well  as  ideas.  It  may  be  good  or  bad,  stilting,  regular,  un- 
decided, or  limping,  but  words  of  themselves  Avill  fall  into  ex- 
pressive groups  accordingly. 

Pauses  form  their  part  also.  Long  pauses  make  it  seem 
spontaneous,  like  thinking,  and  divide  sentences  into  clauses, 
which  makes  one  seem  to  define  what  is  said. 

The  delicacy  of  the  Grecian  ear  would  not  excuse,  even  in 
an  orator,  the  false  quantity  of  a  single  syllable. 

Shakespeare  is  full  of  varieties  of  rhythm,  and  it  is  so  perfect 
that  you  may  be  almost  sure  that  you  do  not  understand  the 
real  force  of  a  line  if  it  does  not  run  well  as  you  read  it.  He 
evidentlv  wrote  with  all  the  feelings  of  the  most  sensitive  mu- 


RHYTHM.  63 

sician.  Shakespeare's  rhythm  is  dramatic,  Milton's  epic,  and  he 
also  wrote  in  mathematically  perfect  measure.  When  you  can 
scan  and  read  Shakespeare  and  Milton  you  can  read  anything. 
In  contrast  to  these  Schiller's  blank  verse  might  be  cited  as  bad. 
The  necessary  mental  pause  after  every  hemi-stich  or  imperfect 
line,  is  always  equal  to  the  time  that  would  have  been  taken  in 
reading  the  complete  verse. 

A  cultivated,  even  a  good  ear,  will  find  no  difficulty  in 
placing  the  strong  expressions  in  musical  order  so  that  they 
shall  fall  upon  the  accented  part  of  the  bar.  These  words, 
where  properly  sustained  by  the  voice,  invariably  convey  the 
sense ;  and  into  them,  when  we  speak  with  feeling  we  infuse 
the  instinctive  tone,  especially  if  the  vocal  organs  are  healthy. 
If  not  so,  they  can  be  made  strong  by  breath-training — which 
should  accompany  the  practice  of  rhythmus.  To  the  weak  it  ex- 
changes a  painful  for  an  agreeable  and  strengthening  exercise. 

Our  animal  existence  is  regulated  by  our  pulse,  and  we  seem 
to  have  an  instinctive  sense  of  rhythmus  ;  all  people  feel  it  for  it 
is  their  nature.  The  swing  of  the  arm  is  beating  time  ;  cursing, 
swearing,  and  many  other  unmeaning  expressions  are  merely  to 
fill  the  measure,  and  to  round  the  rhythmical  period.  From 
this  when  we  mean  to  measure  motions  or  sounds  continued  or 
interrupted,  we  must  pre-suppose  an  exact  periodical  pulsation, 
as  regular  as  the  pulse  or  even  a  pendulum,  the  velocity  of 
which  we  can  vary  at  our  pleasure  as  we  would  choose  to  quicken 
or  slacken  the  movement.  Not  necessarily  loud  and  soft; 
mere  wafture  of  the  hand  is  better  in  music,  than  with  the  foot. 
It  is  conception  in  the  mind.  It  is  not  simply  bars  of  two  sylla- 
bles, but  cadences  of  heavy  and  light,  by  rhythmus.  It  is  in- 
stinctive not  rational.  There  is  a  natural  propensity  in  the 
mind  to  apply  number  and  measure  to  everything  we  hear  and 
see.  Through  the  sense  indiscriminately  ;  through  the  intellect 
by  measure  and  number  which  is  instinctive.  This  is  the 
foundation  of  pulsation.  The  beating  of  our  pulse,  which  we 
feel  when  we  are  silent  and  inactive,  prones  us  to  rhythmical 
divisions  even  in  the  series  of  our  thoughts.  Our  steps  succeed 
in  the  government  of  rhythmical  pulsation,  and  the  measure  may 
then  be,  at  our  option,  fast  or  slow. 


64  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

A  man  may  walk  fast  or  slow  for  convenience  or  pleasure 
and  the  causes  may  be  various.  If  the  pulse  governs,  pace  and 
coincidence  must  be  kept  with  the  systole  and  diastole  of  the 
heart.  Quadrupeds  have  a  rhythmus  of  their  own.  Listen  to 
the  regularity  of  sound  from  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the  pavement,  or 
•on  a  bridge.  Quantity  does  not  govern  rhythmus  but  is  subser 
vient ;  but  pauses  make  an  essential  part.  If  one  stops  when  not 
required,  or  too  long  or  too  short,  he  offends  the  ear  as  well  as 
the  understanding. 

If  we  listen  to  our  own  step  we  find  it  equal  and  irregular. 
Probably  the  time  in  which  we  walk  is  governed  by  the  action 
of  the  heart.  To  walk  fast  gives  a  sense  of  hurry — slow,  loiter- 
ing. The  same  effect  is  produced  in  speaking.  We  are  sooner 
out  of  breath  when  we  run  in  a  pace  not  in  unison  with  the 
pulse  or  the  lungs.  The  heart  seems  to  be  an  interior  pendu- 
lum, and  the  arms  exterior  pendulums  to  the  step.  The  most 
uncivilized  nations  step  exactly.  Soldiers  are  compelled  to  an 
^xact  pace  ;  and  armies  to  the  greatest  regularity,  in  time  of  a 
march.  Stage-coach  men  know  the  time  of  day  with  the  regu- 
larity of  a  watch  by  attention  to  the  pace  of  their  horses.  Clocks 
in  shops  will  stop  those  that  beat  in  irregular  time  and  set  a- 
going  those  that  beat  accurately.  Watches  are  differently  af- 
fected by  different  persons  wearing  them.  In  some  instances 
certain  watches  carried  by  persons  of  a  peculiar  gait,  are  abso- 
lutely useless  as  to  their  keeping  time ;  and  it  is  only  when  the 
proper  correspondence  between  the  step  of  the  person,  and  the 
movement  of  a  watch  can  be  determined  that  such  a  person  can 
depend  upon  the  hour  noted.  This  principle  also  governs  the 
action  of  the  pedometer  or  walking  watch. 

Now,  notwithstanding  the  necessity  of  accurate  judgment 
all  this  regularity  would  seem  to  indicate,  yet  the  less  the  ear  is 
made  sensible  of  anything  mechanical  in  the  giving  or  keeping 
the  time  the  more  deeply  will  the  mind  be  penetrated  with  the 
feelings  intended  to  be  awakened.  A  regularity  of  measure  is 
demanded,  and  whether  the  suspense  be  upon  the  note  or  the 
rest,  its  duration  may  generally  be  ascertained  to  be  of  a  fixed 
and  determinate  length.  When  the  pause  is  upon  a  rest,  an 
interval  of  repose  is  given  to  the  ear,  by  which  it  is  refreshed 


RHYTHM.  65 

Jfor  new  impressions.  Sometimes  its  effect  is  to  raise  the  mind 
to  an  idea  of  vastness.  It  even  gives  language  to  silence  itself. 
The  pause  should  be  sparingly  used,  for  a  too  frequent  repe- 
tition tortures  and  destroys  the  melody.  This  dead  silence  for. 
a  few  seconds  followed  by  a  rush  of  excitement,  is  sometimes 
nearly  all  the  senses  can  bear. 

In  savage  life  we  find  an  innate  fondness  for  rhythm,  illus- 
trated in  part  by  Indian  jugglers  with  their  cups  and  balls — 
rhythm  of  movement.  The  balls  are  of  different  weight,  the 
hollow  and  jingling  being  the  more  easily  caught. 

In  dancing,  savages  simply  clap  the  hands  to  keep  time.  A 
hammer  let  fall  upon  an  anvil  rebounds  and  dances  in  rhythmi- 
cal triplets.  In  language  it  regulates  the  flow  of  words ;  in 
dancing  the  movements  of  the  feet  and  body. 

Sentiment  and  passion  are  expressed  by  measured  steps,  by 
regulated  motions  of  the  body,  and  graceful  gestures  ;  all  of 
which  can  be  successfully  produced  by  that  law — rhythm. 
Poetry  is  regular  rhythm,  prose  irregular.  Long  and  short 
syllables  in  poetry  is  termed  metre  ;  in  prose,  number.  Metre, 
although  adapted  to  the  idea,  yet  appears  as  something  inde- 
pendent, and  seeks  to  attract  attention  to  itself,  aside  from  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  expressed  through  it.  It  not  merely  de- 
termines with  the  greatest  exactness  the  number  and  succession 
of  long  and  short  syllables,  but  it  also  separates  them  into 
individual  metrical  members.  If  this  difference  is  not  duly 
marked,  it  is  made  by  limiting  the  number  of  syllables  to  the 
line  and  by  rhyme.  Number,  on  the  contrary,  remains  subor- 
dinate to  the  thought,  and  prose  is  considered  faulty,  if  by  a 
succession  of  tones  too  striking,  the  attention  is  attracted  from 
the  matter  to  the  form.  Rhythm  and  metre  give  to  poetry  a 
higher  accent,  a  calm  sublimity,  a  broad,  sustained  tone,  which 
elevates  the  spirit  above  common  life. 

Some  syllables  take  more  time,  some  words  are  less  impor- 
tant, and  some  sentences  are  to  be  said  slower  or  quicker.  Ob- 
serve the  difference  of  time  even  in  these  words,  bit,  bet,  bat. 
bot,  but. 

A  sentence  should  possess  rhythm,  though  not  metre  ;  for 
then  it  will  become  verse ;  and  its  very  rhythm  should  be  with- 
5 


66  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

out  preciseness.     This  will, be  the  case  if,  up  to  a  certain  point, 
it  be  preserved. 

All  speech  falls  naturally  under  emphatical  divisions,  which 
may  be  marked  by  bars  as  in  music. 

Our  breathing,  the  beating  of  the  pulse,  and  our  walking, 
make  the  divisions  of  time  by  pointed  and  regular  cadences, 
both  familiar  and  natural.  It  consists  mainly  of  two  move- 
ments, light  and  heavy,  or,  action  and  reaction  like  pulsation. 
The  light  is  like  lifting  the  foot ;  the  heavy,  like  putting  it 
down. 

If  we  count  on  the  fingers  every  step  in  walking  we  find  that 
this  light  and  heavy  action  of  every  other  step  is  a  pace.  This 
division  of  the  step  by  two,  and  the  pace  by  four,  naturally 
arises  from  the  walk  of  a  sound  man. 

The  halting  of  a  lame  man  makes  a  pace  of  six;  one  foot 
resting  longer  on  the  ground  by  that  difference.  The  voice 
halts  in  the  same  manner. 

The  Greeks  used  the  term  from  the  action  of  walking.  Fast 
time,  fast  walking ;  slow  time,  slow  motions.  Three  syllables 
to  a  second  or  even  two  and  a  half,  taking  the  necessary  pauses. 
Pause  is  as  much  an.element  as  sound.  As  a  general  rule  the 
weight  and  percussion  of  the  voice  falls  on  the  heavy  syllables 
of  nouns  and  verbs  to  a  greater  extent  than  on  the  other  words. 
The  verb  is  the  soul  of  the  sentence.  To  prevent  sing-song  in 
poetry,  in  whatever  time,  we  give  the  down  beat  only  on  the 
heavy  syllables. 

The  succession  of  words  as  a  whole  melody  should  express 
the  sense  and  sentiment.  It  is  artificial  and  yet  defeated  if  it 
appear  so.  It  should  be  done  without  apparent  effort,  and  it  is 
spoiled  if  it  be  done  otherwise.  The  rhetorical  form  must  be 
subservient  to  the  spirit  which  dictates  its  use.  In  figures,  and 
imagery  the  spirit  should  be  kept  constantly  in  view,  which  is 
the  precise  object  of  emphasis.  Some,  however,  are  more  cor- 
rect than  fervent. 

You  should  watch  every  tone  and  quantity  even  to  elements. 
so  that  due  preponderacy  of  quantity  and  inflection  may  be 


RHYTHM.  67 

given  where  needed,  as  the  only  efficient  preservative  against  a 
timeless  chattering,  or  drawling,  or  sing-song. 

True  rhythm  is  by  persuasive  impulses,  protracted  or  accel- 
erated quantities,  but  with  great  skill.  One  should  be  cautious 
of  reading  careless,  crude  or  dissonant  writers,  unless  to  know 
what  to  avoid. 

One  of  the  simplest  pieces  of  perfect  art  is  the  stroke  of  an 
oar  in  true  time.  The  perfectness  of  the  stroke  implies  an 
accurate  knowledge  of  power  and  the  having  met  resistance 
repeatedly  with  greater  and  greater  Tightness  of  adaptation  to 
the  end.  To  row  in  a  beautiful  manner  implies  practice  under 
resolved  discipline — submission  to  system,  and  signifies  a  moral 
and  intellectual  purpose. 

From  the  very  structure  and  action  of  the  vocal  organs  we 
see  this  alternation  is  inherent  in  all  spoken  language.  Action 
and  re-action  are  constantly  going  on  which  regulates  our  speech. 
Stammering  proceeds  from  irregularity. 

Many  persons  naturally  carry  out  this  poise  without  in- 
struction, especially  those  -possessed  of  strong  feelings,  live- 
ly imaginations,  and  warm  temperaments ;  those  of  cold, 
lethargic,  unimpassioned  temperaments,  or  languid  health; 
have  but  little  action  and  reaction,  and  hence  poise  is  inade- 
quately maintained  and  the  delivery  tame  and  feeble,  void  of 
expression. 

Rhythm  constitutes  one  of  the  most  interesting  features. 
Experience  has  shown  that  it  can  be  correctly  taught.  It  is  as 
natural  as  breathing.  It  is  the  abuse  and  not  the  just  applica- 
tion. It  is  not  a  fanciful  contrivance,  but  the  necessary  result 
of  our  physical  economy ;  the  written  exponent  of  what  takes 
place  beyond  our  control ;  the  accommodating  to  the  necessities 
of  respiration  and  pulsation  the  best  possible  utterance  of  written 
language.  It  is  founded  in  nature.  It  will  not  mislead  but 
correct  the  ear. 

The   ancient   orators  bestowed   incredible   pains  not   alone 
upon  the  choice  of  words,  but  upon  their  metrical  arrangement. 
Cicero  quoted  a  few  words  from  a  speech  which  were  so  exquis 
itely  selected  and  collocated  that  they  almost  brought  his  hearers 
to  their  feet. 


68  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

It  is  the  melody  of  a  sentence  which  makes  it  cut  into  the 
mind,  causes  it  to  penetrate  deeply,  and  ring  in  the  ears. 

Let  one  brood  over  the  finest  parts  of  Shakespeare,  Milton, 
the  poets  and  prose  writers,  until  his  mind  is  filled  with  them 
and  he  can  recite  from  them  at  will,  and  he  will  insensibly 
adopt  their  style  and  language,  and  imitate  them.  Pitt  read 
and  re-read  Barrow's  sermons  to  get  copiousness  of  language. 
Burke  abounds  with  gems  from  Virgil  and  Milton.  The  disci- 
pline and  customs  of  social  life  tend  to  crush  emotion.  Litera- 
ture alone  is  brimful  of  feeling.  Webster  read  not  many  books. 
Shakespeare,  Milton  and  Burke  he  seems  to  have  read  till  their 
ideas  were  held  in  his  own  mind  in  constant  solution.  He 
always  prepared  his  speeches  as  if  mentally  facing  his  audience. 

There  is  a  general  neglect  of  the  study,  even  to  total  igno- 
rance. Yet  all  persons  who  speak  with  an  agreeable  smoothness 
and  facility,  speak  in  metrical  measure  on  genuine  principles  ; 
and  this  comes  from  simple  perceptions  of  nature  and  feeling, 
and  is  not  a  jargon  of  mere  erroneous  theory. 

Improper  measure,  or  scanning,  is  what  gives  the  harsh  and 
labored  elocution  of  artificial  speakers,  which  so  offends  the  ear 
of  taste  and  sensibility.  The  indication  of  such  a  division 
comes  from  an  absolute  organic  action  in  the  man.  Natural 
instinct  ought  to  dictate,  but  it  is  not  always  done  because  of 
ill-directed  effort  when  primarily  learning.  It  is  unconsciously 
done  by  good  speakers  ;  a  measure,  and  slight  interruptivc  rests. 
Where  there  is  no  measure,  there  is  no  smoothness,  or  harmony, 
and  this  produces  hesitancy.  The  finest  verse  is  often  ostenta- 
tiously mis-delivered.  It  is  from  abstract,  to  rhetorical  rhythmus, 
by  sentiment,  pause,  emphasis,  and  quantity  ;  but  all  is  on  the 
simple,  original  principle.  One  should  read  and  speak  language 
as  it  is  scanned,  for  rhythmus  is  given  even  to  conversation,  but 
in  proportion,  grace  and  harmony.  One  should  comprehend 
and  cultivate  the  highest  graces  of  utterance.  To  this  end  it  is 
best  for  beginners  to  study  verse  at  first,  of  the  simplest,  most 
perfect,  fixed  and  determinate  character  ;  but  even  prose  is 
good  if  not  too  varied.  Prose  is  most  likely  to  continually  vary. 
The  meaning  should  appear  to  be  the  only  object,  and  the 
harmony,  even  when  most  perfect,  seem  incidental,  unsought. 


EXAMPLES  IN   VERSE  AND   PROSE.  69 

The  reader  is  not  to  make  the  verse,  but  to  take  care  not  to  mar 
it.  Do  not  humor  it.  The  manner  should  be  a  comment  on  the 
matter.  There  should  be  a  true  perception  of  its  character  and 
an  adaptation  to  its  qualities.  Different  authors  have  differ- 
ent qualities,  different  measure,  and  their  meaning  will  be 
marred  if  the  tune  is  not  attended  to.  Rhythm  is  of  the  utmost 
simplicity,  and  has  an  universality  of  application. 

Rhythm — Versification — Scanning. 

EXAMPLES   IN"   VEKSE   AND   PROSE. 

"  It  is  a  mystery  which  we  firmly  believe  the  truth  of,  and 
humbly  adore  the  depth  of."  The  language  here  is  expressive 
but  not  harmonious,  not  only  because  each  clause  ends  with  the 
sign  of  the  genitive  case,  deemed  inaccurate,  but  because  it  is 
composed  of  base  and  feeble  numbers,  pyrrhics  and  trochees, 
which  by  a  small  transposition  of  the  words,  might  easily  be 
avoided,  as  thus  :  "  It  is  a  mystery  the  truth  whereof  we  firmly 
believe,  and  the  depth  of  which  we  humbly  adore."  According 
to  this  disposition  of  the  words,  the  sentence  is  composed  alto- 
gether of  strong  and  generous  feet,  viz.,  iambics  and  anapaests. 
Long  and  liquid  monosyllables  make  a  good  cadence,  as  ease, 
same,  shine,  and  the  preceding  word  adore. 

1.  Manometer ;   2.  Dimeter ;    3.  Trimeter ;    4.  Tetrameter ;   5.  Penta- 
meter ;  6.  Hexameter ;  7.  Heptameter. 

TWO  SYLLABLES. 

«  /      ~    /         ~        /          ^     / 
IAMBUS,  (plain)  Betray,  consist,  what  place,  thee  not. 

/     —      /  —       /^/~ 
TROCHEE,  (tripping)  Hateful,  pettish,  in  the,  on  the. 

SPONDEE,  Bold  youth,  weak  wings,  dark  night. 
PYRRHIC,  That  on,  (hap)-pily,  on  the,  (beau)-ties  of. 

THREE  SYLLABLES. 

—  ->/      ^   ^  /       ^   —       /       ^  ^    / 
ANAPAEST,  Contravene,  acquiesce,  but  in  vain,  may  I  come. 

/^^      /  ^v       /      _     —          /    _      ,_ 
DACTYLE,  Laborer,  possible,  from  the  high,  pleasures  of. 

_,         /  t  I  . /     s_  v_<  /          V^ 

AMPHIBRACH,  Delightful,  domestic,  there  is  a,  the  season. 


70 


ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 


^     / 
THE    C^ESURAL    PAUSE. 


(  And,  |  to  their  proper  operation  ||  still 
(Ascribe  all  good,  ||  to  their  improper,  |  ill. 

BRISK,  (after  4th  syl.)  On  her  white  breast,  ||  a  sparkling  cross. 
SMOOTH,  (after  5th  syl.)  Eternal  sunshine  ||  of  the  spotless  mind. 

(  GRAVE,  (after  6th  syl.)  Of  all  the  Grecian  woes.  ||  O  goddess,  sing  ! 
(  ALEXANDRINE,  (7th  syl.)  And  in  the  smooth  description  ||  murmur  still. 

Trochaic  verse  is  in  reality  only  defective  Iambic  ;  that  is,  Iambic  want- 
ing the  first  syllable. 


Thou)       Vi 
Fatal 


•>->       I 
tal  spark 

spark  of 


/ 

of  heaven     ly  flame, 
heavenly   \  flame. 


The  maid, 

1        7 
How  blithe 


2      6 

/ 
And  win 

2        6 
When  first 


3     5 

/ 
To  woo 


4     4 
I  came 


5     3 
/ 
from  far 


6        2 
When  first 


How  blithe. 


3     5 

from  far 


4 


4 

1  came 


5     3 

/ 
to  woo 


6      2 
and  win, 


the  maid, 


HEROICS,  (Stately.)    FIVE  IAMBICS. 

^        /         ^      /       ^      /      ^  /          ^    / 
How  loved,  |  how  val  \  ued  once  ||  avails  \  thee  not. 

DACTYLE  is  only  the  Anapaest  with  the  omission  of  the  first  two  unac- 
cented syllables. 

^      ^  /         ^      ^         /     ^    —        /_    _,        / 

AH  they're)  |  Drawn  from  the  |  fountain  of  |  mercy  and  |  love. 

_    ^         /         ^    ^        /  w   ""w"     /  —  —      / 

ANAPAEST,  At  the  dose  \  of  the  day  \  when  the  ham  \  let  is  still. 

(      —        I        s*      w      /  v      >*        /      ^      ^       / 
AMPHIBRACH  <  With  storm-d&r  \  ing  pinion  \  and  sun-g&z  \  ing  eye. 

(  There  is  a  |  bleak  desert  \  where  daylight  |  grows  weary. 


His  wit, 

w  / 

With  smart, 

•—     I 
Has  hit, 

My  heart. 


IAMBIC    MEASURES. 

MONOMETER — One  Iambus. 

Extra  syllable  hypercataletic  meter. 
I  said,  (while, 

The  moon's  (smile. 

•-'         / 
Complain(ing. 


EXAMPLES  AV    VERSE  AND  PROSE.  71 

DIMETER — two  Iambuses,  (acataletic.) 

/         ~      / 


Our  ai  |  ry  feet, 
->  '  /         —         / 
So  light  |  and  fleet. 

The  soul  I  refined 

-     '     ,  .~  /    ^ 
Is  most    inclined. 


Assumes  \  the  ^od, 
Affects  |  to  nod. 
A  joy —  |  a  /ear ; 
A  smile —  I  a  tear. 


DIMETER—  5y#.  cat.  met. 


/       ^  /-  ~  /  / 

Could  Zo0e  |  forever  'Upon,  \  a  m 

/       ^  /  _/       -<      /    - 

Run  like  I  a  nv(er  'Beside  \  &foun(t&m 

/  /_  -     /       >-       /     ~ 

To  7iaZZs  I  ^f  spZen(dor  No    o^  |  er  pleasure 

/  /      ^  —        /         —        /     ~ 

Through  %A^  |  more  ^»(der  With  *Aw  |  could  measure. 

TRIMETER,  a.  ra. 

.    /       ^       /  / 

Go  riw^  |  ling  on  \  their  way. 

I      ^     I      -     / 
The  £>res  |  ent  is  \  our  own. 

^     /         ^      /       -      / 
Un/a^  |  ing,  ^en.  |  tie  pure. 

TRIMETER,  h.  c.  m. 

_       /        -     /         -      /        ~ 
'Twas  when  \  the  seas  \  were  roar  |  ing. 

_      /       -        /       ~      /   - 
And  Aow  |  can  man  \  die  oe^ter. 

^       /          ^     /       -    /       ~ 
Our  Aear^*  |  no  long  \  er  Zan(guish. 

TETRAMETER. 

^      /        ^    /  -        J        ~      / 
Born  ZiA;e  |  the  lil  \  y  w/tere  |  the  dew. 


— 
And  Vir  \  tue  ts  |  the  child  \  of 

_     /         J    './          w    /        -/ 

Find  ow£  |  the  peace  I  ful  her  \  mitage. 

TETRAMETER,  h.  c.  m. 

^       I       ^      /    ^    /      ^      / 
Her  heart  \  is  like  \  &  fad  \  ed  flow(ei. 

^         /         —      /       ^/         —      / 
The  Turk  \  man  lay  \  beside  \  the  rw(er. 


72  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

PENTAMETER,  a.  m.    Heroic  and  Composite.    Milton,  Shakespeare,  Pope, 
Byron,  etc.    Blank  verse  and  Epic  poems. 

x  /''*•»/«-/          —        /«_/ 
O  un  |  expect  \  ed  stroke  \  worse  than  \  of  death! 

*•/>-'/         ~      /        *_      /    _    / 
Be  M>i«e  |  to-day,  \  'tis  wad  |  ness  to  j  defer. 

^  /      ^         /          **  '/**/'*,/ 
Honor  |  and  shame  \  from  no  \  condi  |  tion  rise. 

PENTAMETER,  h.  c.  m. 

—       /  ^    /        ^      /          _       /        ~      / 

Day-stors,  |  that  ope  |  your  eyes  \  with  morn  \  to  2«?wiA;(le. 

^          /          ^       I       ^    /      ^  /     ^     /         ^ 
Con  |  sumed  \  my  tram  |  to  ash  \  es  as\  it  won  |  (me. 

HEXAMETER — Alexandrine. 


The  praise  \  of  Bac  \  chus  then  \  the  sweet  \  must  |  cian  sung. 

V          /  —  /  —  /  x_  /  _/ 

The  seaa  |  shall  waste  |  the  s&ies  |  in  smoke  \  decay. 

HEPTAMETER. 

^        /      ^     I        ^      /      ~  I         ^       /         ~      /  / 

The  Lord  \  descend  \  edfrom.  \  above,  \  and  bowed  \  the  hewo  \  'ns  high. 

(        **/<-/  J.      ^    J 

j  When  all  \  thy  mer  \  cies  0,  \  my  Gfod,  \ 

|  My  ri*ing  soul  \  surveys. 

HBPTAMETER,  h.  c.  m. 

So  gen  \  tfe  El  \  len  now  \  no  mare  \  could  maAre  |  the  sad  \  house  cheer(j. 
TROCHAIC — MONOMETER,  a.  and  h.  c.  m.  (no  dignity. 


I       ^ 
Turn  |  ing. 


Chang  \  ing. 


- 
Tu  I  mult  (cease. 


/         ^  /       ~       /  / 

Hoi 


-^ 
Shrieks  of  (woe. 


Hope  is  |  Saraished. 
Are  but  |  ^-tals. 


Sink  |  to  (peace. 

DIMETER,  a.  and  h.  c.  m. 

/  ^  /    ~        /    —/  / 

In  the  I  days  of  (oJo*. 


low  (groans. 


- 

n  the  I  daws  of  (old. 

/       -          (    ~ 

£tars  that  |  Mine  and  | 


TRIMETER,  a.  and  h.  c.  m. 

/          _  /v^/_-  /—  /+*/*,/ 

All  the  |  sow£  of  |  /e^Zing.        |      Heav'mg  \  upwards  |  to  the  (sight. 


EXAMPLES  IN   VERSE  AND  PROSE.  73 

TETRAMETER  (uncommon.) 
Round  us  |  wars  the  I  tempest  |  louder. 

/     _  /        v_,  /_  /        _  I 

•  Sat  a  |  farmer,  \  ruddy,  \  fat  and  (fair. 
PENTAMETER— a.  and  h.  c.  m. 

/  v_*  /   ^  /  ^  /     ^  /  O 

harrowing  |  into  |  where  they  |  sa£  as  |  sewbled 

iow,  vo  |  luptuoas  |  wwsic  |  winding  |  £ren»(bled. 

HEXAMETER. 

/    ^       /^      I       ^         /       ^         /    ~        I    ~> 
Up  the  |  dewy  \  mountain  |  health  is  |  sownding  |  hghtly. 

HEPTAMETER. 

When  the  |  centu  |  ries  be  |  hind  me  |  like  a  |  fruitf ul  |  land  re(posed. 
ANAPAESTIC — (MONOMETER  AND  DIMETER.) 


^ 

In  a  sweet 

*_  ->  / 
Resonance 
^      ^_,        / 
All  their  /eei! 

>_x         >_,  / 

In  the  dance. 


•^  •*_>'/  ^,    -~>     / 

In  my  ra^e,  |  shall  be  seen 


The  levenye  \  of  a  queen. 


And  the  n'0  |  er  how  deep. 


TRIMETER  (a.  and  h.  c.  m.) 

(Very  pleasing  for  cheerful,  or  solemn  subjects.) 
How  the  night  \  ingales  war  \  ble  their  loves  ! 

^  -^  /  ^        -^  /  s_-_      / 

Though  the  day  \  of  my  des  \  tiny  ov(er. 

TETRAMETER,  a.  and  h.  c.  m. 

+)  The  plen  \  tif  ul  mois  \  ture  encwm  |  bered  the  flower. 
If  they  rule  \  it  shall  be  \  o'er  our  ash  \  es  and  graves 
When  a  prince  \  to  the  fate  \  of  a  peas  \  ant  has  yield(ed. 
DACTYZ.IC  (MONOMETER  AND  DIMETER,  uncommon.) 
it, 


Drink  of  it, 

/     ^  x_. 

.Fearfully. 


s_         ^  __ 

and  un  I  dutiful 
/      —    —        /          ^       v_ 
Come  as  the  |  winds  come,  when 

/    ^     ^     /^.^ 
Free  from  sa  |  ti  e  ty. 


'74  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

TRIMETER,  a.  and  h.  c.  m. 

/    x_      _          /     v_       ^          /•*+<*, 

Brighter  than  |  summer  green's  |  carpeting. 

/  •          ~          ~  /  >->  _  /  v_  _,  / 

Earth  has  no  |  sorrows  that  |  Heaven  can  not  (TteoJ. 
TETRAMETER. 

/  -^  x-'  /  x_,        v_.  /        -^    v_,  /        _        s_, 

low  |  Reassures  of  |  £/«'s  fallen  |  Tiature  + 
_   -^        /        _   ^        />_-_         /  .  ___  , 
is  thy  |  /teartf  and  as  |  frozen  as  ]  c7ia?ity. 


/    ^          ^,  / 

toci 


_  _ 

will  an  |  ta'cipate  |  tocish  and  |  dissipate. 
PENTAMETER. 

/     ^  ^        /  ^-.^         /    ^  —         /  ^  —         /  ^    ^ 
Land  of  the  |  deawtiful,  |  ^and  of  the  |  generous,  |  Jiail  to  thee. 

HEXAMETER. 

_     V^  /         s__  /  ^         ^  /      —        ^  I         ^  ^ 

the  |  foawtif  ul,  |  to»d  of  the  |  generous,  |  Aa#  to  thee, 


HEPTAMETER. 

.      x_  ^  /        . 

I  /endeth,  that  |  lieih,  that  |  faileth  to  |  Aonor  him 


/        ^        —  /      ^  ^  /x_^  /        v^      ^  / 

IK  that  o 


AMPHIBRACH,  MONOMETER  AND  DIMETER. 

—        /    _ 
Hearts  beating 

_      /    _ 
At  meeting  • 

Tears  starting 
•^  /  —  • 
At  parting. 


c  bands  |  came  over 

^  /          v_  s_,    /^ 

The  Bourbon  \  forever. 


TRIMETER. 

^        /  ^  —  /  ~  ^  X-'     v^ 

A  conquest  |  how  hard  and  |  how  (^0ri(ous. 
TETRAMETER.. 

^  /  ^  ^  /      ^  ^          /  ^  _/v_, 

With  storm  dar  |  ing  pinion  |  and  SMTZ  gaz  |  ing  eye  + 

•^  /^  v_,  /^  ^  /          _  ^  /        ^ 

There  ts  a  |  bleak  desert  |  where  daylight  |  grows  weary. 
Accent  on  short  syllables  is  inelegant  if  not  incorrect. 

Ex. — As  a  |  friend  thank  \  him,  and  \  with  joy  \  see  him. 
Most  melodious  when  long  and  short  syllables. 

Ex. — At  the  dose  \   of  the  day  \  when  the  7mm  |  let  is  still. 


EXAMPLES  IN   VERSE  AND   PROSE.  75 

FAULTY  MEASURE. 
And  the  mountains  will  echo  industry's  glad  song. 

FAULTY  RHYME. 

And  now,  where  shade  and  fountain  (meet, 
Herds  of  horses  and  cattle  (feed. 

Reject  words  if  accent  falls  wrongly. 

/  /  /  /         / 

Perhaps  like  me  he  flounders  out  a  line, 

And  begins  another — there  stops — (wrong.} 
Long  syllable  next  to  accent,  is  made  short  and  has  no  accent. 

/  /  /  /  / 

West(wa.rd)  the  course  of  ew(pire)  takes  its  way 

Word  accent  need  not  receive  poetic  accent,  if  it  is  harsh. 

/  /  /  / 

Whilst  our  maidens  shall  dance  with  their  white  (waving)  arms, 

lit  / 

(Singing)  ,;'0y  to  the  brave  that  delivered  their  charms. 

COMBINATION   OF  MEASURES. 

COMPOSITE  VERSE. 

Changes  of  accent  allowable  at  the  chief  pauses — (apparent  irregularities.) 

ANAPAEST.  or  TROCHAIC. 

_  _       /  /•*-/ 

But  in  vain  But  in  vain 
-_       _       /  /  V     .  / 

They  complain  They  complain. 


SPONDEE. 
There  soon 

SPONDEE. 
/       / 
Hail  long 


the  sufferer  sinks  to  rest. 


IAMBUS. 


/          /       /         ^      /       w  ( 

lost  Peace  !  \  hail,  dove  \  -eyed  maid  \  dimne. 


If  aught  be  wel 

Be  it  the  trav'l 

The  flowers  I  often  wa 


PTKRHIC. 


come  to 
er  who 
tered  with 


our  sylvan  shed, 
has  lost  his  way. 
my  tears. 


76  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

SPONDEE.    IAMBUS.       PYRRHIC.         IAMBUS.         IAMBUS. 

/    /       <-,       /  ~       ~          ^     /  —>         I 

Go  pi  |  ous  off-  |  spring  and  |  restrain  \  those  tears. 

DACTTLE.        IAMBUSES. 

/  ^    _  v_  /  _  /  v_  /  ^/ 

Jnmnuring,  |  and  with  \  him  ^ed  |  the  shades  \  of  night. 
AMPHIBRACH.      IAMBUS.  IAMBUSES. 

~  /       _       _  /  _  /  /    v_  / 

O'er  many  \  a  froz  \  en,  many  a  |  j?er  |  y  Alp  (?) 
SPONDEE.  TRIBRACH.  IAMBUSES. 

/  «_>^.%-  x_,        /  -'/  ^  / 

Innw  |  merable  |  be/ore  |  th'  Almigh  \  ty  throne. 
IAMBICS  AND  ANAPAESTS. 

We  buried,  him  darkly,  at  rfead  of  night, 

/  I  / 

The  sods  with  our  bayonets  turning. 

/          /  /       ^       ^ 

'Twas  the  battle-field  ;  and  the  cold,  pale  moon 

Looked  down  on  the  dead  and  dying ; 

/  / 

It  was  many  and  many 

In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea. 


ALL  THE  FEET. 


(7<?  where  glory  waits  thee, 

But  when  fame  elates  thee 

-          I  / 

Oh  1  still  remember  me. 


^        ~ 
Ojft  in  the  stilly  night, 

'Ere  sJwmber's  cAm'n  has  bound  me, 

/   -—      / 
Fond  Memory  brings  the 


Show  ye  the  tond  where  the  cypress  and  myrtle 

/./.// 

Are  emblems  of  deeds  that  are  (force  in  their  clime. 

Robert  of  Ziwcoln  is  filing  his  name 
Nearly  all  the  feet  in  the  stanzas  from  which  this  is  taken. 


Sometimes  last  syllable,  first  in  first  foot  of  next  line. 

^       _          /  v_,v_/  ^  ^  I  _-          ^ 

On  the  coW  |  cheek  of  death  \  smiles  and  ro  |  ses  are 
^  /         —          I         ^         /          ^      <_/ 

-t-  And  6eaw-  |  ty  im?»0?f-  |  tal  &wakes  \  from  the 


POETRY.  77 

The  Heroic  measure  is  sometimes  mixed  for  variety  with  others  (even 
with  Alexandrines,  but  sparingly),  An.,  Tr.,  Dae.,  etc.,  etc. 

<_-/         ~     /  ^    /       ^       /          ^      / 

But  fix'd  |  his  word,  \   his  sav  \  ing  pow'i  \  remains 

^       /         •*,/<-,/         ^       /         ^  /    ^      / 

Thy  realm  \  forev  \  er  lasts,  |  thy  oww  |  Messi  |  ah  reigns. 

Vowels  make  the  accent  equal  to  quantity  (or  pause.) 

•^      /  /       ^       /          _/_/ 

O'er  heaps  \  of  ru-  \  ins  stalk'd  \  the  state-  \  ly  hind. 

Consonants  need  quantity  as  compensation  for  the  short  syllables. 


_ 

Then  rwstf  |  ling,  crack-  \  ling,  crash  \  ing,  tf/itm-  |  der    down  (except    the 
last  syllable. 

Blank  verse  free  from  rhyme  (in  Hexameter)  bold,  forcible.  Tragedy 
(or  even  an  epic  poem)  is  degraded  by  rhyme. 

FINE  VERIFICATION. 
Pope's  Rape  of  the  Lock,  Eloisa  to  Abelard  —  Fine,  elegant  rhyme,  etc. 

PASTORAL. 
Ramsay's  Gentle  Shepherd  —  Taste,  genius.     Shenstone. 

LYRIC. 
Pindar,  Sappho,  Anacreon,  (Horace  immortal.) 

(MEASURE)  INCORRECT  BLANK  VERSE. 

And  he  but  naked,  though  locked  up  in  steel, 
Whose  conscience  with  injustice  is  corrupted. 

SPENSERIAN  STANZA. 
Byron's  Childe  Harold  (9  lines  Iambic  pentameter,  the  last  hexameter.) 

IAMBIC  TETRAMETER. 
Lady  of  the  Lake,  Marmion,  Mazeppa. 

IAMBIC  (PENTAMETER.) 

Gray's  Elegy  in  Church-yard,  Pope's  Essay  on  Man,  and  his  Iliad  and 
Odyssey. 

For  exercises  to  change  sentences  into  measure,  to  find  rhyming 
words,  etc.,  consult  Quackenbos'  Rhetoric,  Parker's  Aids,  etc. 


78  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY 

Poetry. 

It  is  not  to  be  read  exactly  like  prose  ;  poetry  without  song 
is  a  body  without  a  soul.  It  is  to  be  made  beautiful,  elevated  ; 
but  it  is  exceedingly  hard,  in  so  doing,  to  avoid  canting  tones. 
There  must  be  a  compromise  between  sense  and  sound.  If  doubt- 
ful change  it  to  prose  and  read  it,  then  back  to  verse.  Do  not 
be  too  natural,  do  not  lose  the  verse  entirely.  Too  familiar  be- 
comes prosy  and  dull  ;  easy  and  natural,  almost  concealing  the 
blank  verse,  but  not  losing  the  fine  rhythmical  effect.  It  is  to 
move  the  soul,  to  charm  the  ear.  Were  there  no  caesura,  verse 
would  be  merely  simple  melody.  It  is  difficult  to  read  on  ac- 
count of  the  pause  of  melody  and  the  pause  of  sense  ;  it  must 
be^from  ear  and  understanding. 

Poetry  is  thought,  feeling,  expression,  imagination,  action, 
character,  continuity,  all  in  the  largest  sense.  It  must  be  visi- 
ble to  the  mind's  eye,  like  music  without  sound.  It  is  sugges- 
tiveness,  range,  intellectual  wealth,  combination  of  images,  a 
triumph  over  space  and  time. 

Regular  sounds  in  poetry  are  apt  to  pall,  without  well-judged 
variety  in  reading  them.  One  weighty,  significant  touch  when 
seasonably  introduced  may  produce  a  shiver  of  awful  delight. 
Some  want  of  pains  and  run  into  the  wildest  irregularities.  It 
should  sometimes  be  even  like  a  thunderbolt,  but  yet  be  decorous. 

Poetry  to  one  who  conceives  it  falsehood,  is  expression- 
less. Even  in  prose,  to  be  fittingly  rendered,  one  must  dwell  on 
the  spirit,  if  not  the  letter  of  poetry.  It  is  by  the  process  of 
assimilation  to  the  moods  that  one  becomes  poetical  and  imagin- 
ative in  expression. 

The  Bible. 

The  Scriptures  should  be  read  as  inspired  prophecies  ;  as  if 
face  to  face  with  the  invisible.  You  should  have  the  mind  in- 
tent on  the  meaning  and  utter  accordingly.  The  Bible  has  the 
choicest  specimens,  and  he  who  knows  no  other  book  and  enters 
into  its  inspiration  must  be  eloquent. 

•In  religious  rites  have  the  natural  voice  and  not  a  style  to 
extinguish  germ. 


PART    II. 


EXERCISE  — HEALTH. 

INACTION  generates  disorders  ;  all  parts  of  the  body  fall  into 
relaxation,  disabling  the  members,  and  taking  away  the  vig- 
orous tone  of  fibre  requisite  for  carrying  on  the  necessary  secre- 
tions. In  this  state  the  nerves  are  liable  to  become  unbraced  ; 
and  melancholy  and  dejection  follow.  The  best  remedy  is 
labor,  exercise.  Labor  preserves  the  coarser  organs,  and  by  them 
are  sustained  the  finer  and  more  delicate  and,  still  further,  on 
them  is  upheld  the  imagination.  A  man  speaks  ill  when  suf- 
fering. He  may  speak  by  will  at  such  a  time,  but  the  after- 
effect, to  the  body,  is  injurious.  One  should  have  a  sound  corn 
stitution,  good  digestion,  robust  chest  and  limbs,  and  have 
them  kept  in  good  condition,  by  rigorous  discipline,  like  the 
old  athletes.  « 

Favorable  moods  depend  on  vitality,  and  can  be  commanded 
by  attention  to  regimen,  food,  sleep  and  exercise.  Athena  de- 
sired to  make  Penelope  bright  and  beautiful,  and  to  do  away 
with  the  signs  of  waiting  and  grief.  She  laid  her  into  a  deep 
sleep,  loosed  all  her  limbs,  made  her  taller,  smoother,  fatter, 
and  whiter  than  sawn  ivory,  and  breathed  ambrosial  brightness 
over  her  face.  This  comes  of  fresh  air,  and  sound  sleep  at  night. 

Vitality  gives  keenness  and  brilliancy  even  to  tips  of  fingers. 
Its  want  makes  one  dry,  mechanical,  insincere,  powerless. 

It  is  best  at  times  to  be  robust  and  radiant  with  great 
volumes  of  warmth  and  animal  heat.  Mental  excitement  wears 
down  the  body  faster  than  muscular  labor.  Whatever  agitates 
and  disturbs  the  mind  embarrasses  the  nervous  system.  Vexa- 
tion hurries  the  action  of  the  heart,  but  lessens  its  powers. — 


80  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

impairs  the  appetite,  and  impedes  digestion  ;  interferes  with 
the  lungs  and  creates  difficult  respiration.  A  good  preventive 
is  to  cultivate  joy  rationally.  This  with  proper  exercise  in- 
creases the  action  of  the  respiratory  functions  and  tends  to  a 
removal  of  low  and  desponding  states,  by  making  a  more  gen- 
eral distribution  of  the  blood,  from  its  more  heightened  oxyda- 
tion,  by  which  all  the  vital  functions  acquire  increased  energy. 

Pood— Condition. 

One  should  have  regular  habits,  be  prudent  as  to  health,  and 
eat  substantially  of  wholesome  food.  Oily  food,  fat  meat  is  es- 
pecially, positively  necessary  for  actors  and  singers,  to  counter- 
act the  rapid  oxygenation  of  the  blood  that  ensues  upon  unusual 
vocal  effort.  Children  are  pale  and  chilly  that  do  not  eat  fat 
meat,  and  they  must  be  taught  to  relish  and  not  be  allowed  to 
go  without  it,  or  premature  death  from  phthisis  may  be  the 
result.  This  insufficient  use  of  oily  food  is  a  common  and  most 
injurious  and  dangerous  error  of  diet.  Consider  health  and  a 
good  constitution  above  all.  Have  all  in  tune ;  body,  heart, 
muscles  and  emotions.  Energy  is  the  soul  and  it  depends  on 
health.  Teachers  need  to  dissipate  "fatigue  blood"  by  plenty 
of  open  air  exercise,  and  deep  breathing. 

Out-door  life  is  action,  expression  ;  in-dooj*  is  repose,  reflec- 
tion. The  change  from  one  to  the  other  is  grateful.  It  should 
be  alternate  relaxation.  The  playful  are  the  most  vivacious, 
and  manly ;  uniting  sweetness  to  gravity.  It  should  not  be 
effeminacy  with  unnatural  softness. 

Wilberforce  battling  all  day  long  for  God  and  humanity, 
then  home  to  amuse  his  children  with  play  and  stories,  happy 
as  a  swallow.  Buxton  hunting  abuses  in  parliament,  then  on 
the  heath  with  his  dog  und  gun.  Granville  playing  on  human 
sympathies,  then  on  the  flute. 

There  is  a  time  to  weep  and  to  weep  long,  and  a  time  to 
laugh  and  to  laugh  exuberantly.  We  work  our  souls  down  and 
then  build  them  up  again.  We  must  unbend  to  be  elastic  ;  we 
must  not  always  drudge.  There  is  absolute  need  of  recreation. 
It  must  be  had. 


FOOD  — CONDITION.  81 

A  Greek  was  not  satisfied  with  doing  the  right  thing ;  he 
must  enjoy  doing  it ;  and  to  be  certain  of  this,  he  kept  his  vital 
organs  in  a  healthful  condition.  His  artistic  training  was  a  help 
to  him. 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  kill  a  man  by  honest  hard  work, 
but  you  can  worry  him  to  death  in  a  very  short  time.  It  is  the 
nervous,  not  the  muscular  system  that  gives  out.  Some  people 
sing  at  their  work  and  live  long ;  others  fret  at  their  work  and 
soon  wear  out.  One  song  is  better  than  many  tears. 

A  mental  shock,  a  mechanical  injury,  an  exposure  to  cold, 
a  strain,  a  deprivation  of  food  beyond  the  usual  time  of  taking 
food — any  of  these  causes,  and  others  similar,  are  sufficient  to 
cause  an  organic  wreck,  which,  left  to  its  own  fate,  would  soon 
break  up  from  progressive  internal  failure  of  vital  power.  An- 
other cause  for  the  undue  shortening  of  life  is  the  intense  men- 
tal strain  prevalent  among  literary  men,  artists,  and  other 
classes.  If  not  a  new  feature  in  society,  this  mental  strain  is 
at  least  more  conspicuous  than  formerly,  because  the  struggle 
to  attain  rewards  is  greater  and  more  dependent  on  individual 
exertion  than  it  seems  to  have  been  in  past  and  less  exacting 
times.  In  short,  the  derangement  of  the  nervous  system  leads 
to  no  end  of  functional  derangements  in  the  heart,  stomach, 
.and  so  on,  in  all  which  are  found  reasons  why  so  many  of  our 
most  eminent  notabilities  are  removed  ere  they  reach  fourscore. 
They  fall  victims  to  a  heedless,  certainly  unfortunate,  overtask- 
ing of  the  brain.  Medical  men  in  high  practice,  though  well 
aware  of  the  dangers  of  professional  exhaustion,  are  not  always 
exempt  from  the  charge  of  being  careless  of  their  own  health. 
The  wiser  among  them  endeavor  to  limit  their  hours  of  work, 
and  at  the  proper  season  retreat  to  the  country  for  the  sake  of 
invigorating  rural  sports.  The  practice  among  people  in  busi- 
ness of  taking  a  month's  holiday  at  the  seaside,  or  some  inland 
healthful  resort,  has  the  same  beneficial  tendency. 

It  is  wonderful  how  much  may  be  done  to  protract  existence 
by  the  restorative  of  sound  sleep.  Late  hours,  under  mental 
strain,  are,  of  course,  incompatible  with  this  solacement.  It  is 
painful  to  trace  the  beginnings  of  pulmonary  consumption  to 
late  hours  at  "  unearthly  balls  and  evening  parties,"  by  which 
6 


S3  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

rest  is  broken  and  encroachments  made  on  the  constitution. 
If  in  middle  age  the  habit  of  taking  deficient  and  irregular  sleep 
be  still  maintained,  every  source  of  depression,  every  latent 
form  of  disease,  is  quickened  and  intensified.  The  sleepless 
exhaustion  allies  itself  with  all  other  processes  of  exhaustion,  or 
it  kills  imperceptibly,  by  a  rapid  introduction  of  premature  old 
age,  which  leads  directly  to  premature  dissolution.  Many  peo- 
ple die  earlier  than  they  ought.  They  violate  the  primary 
principle  of  taking  a  regular  night's  rest.  If  they  sleep,  it  is 
disturbed.  They  dream  ;  they  do  not  sleep  soundly  ;  wild  im- 
aginative notions  pass  through  the  brain  while  half-sleeping  or 
dozing.  In  dreaming  there  is  no  proper  or  restorative  rest. 

Day-time  Sleep. 

One  should  not  sleep  in  the  day-time  to  make  up  lost  hours, 
but  rather  always  if  possible,  retire  early.  Use  a  hair  mattress, 
spare  bed-clothing,  bathe  often,  make  free  use  of  cold  water. 
Do  not  eat  beyond  requirements,  every  particle  is  an  incum- 
brance.  The  digestive  organs  will  not  convert  all  into  blood. 
The  improvement  of  the  general  health  tends  to  improve  the 
voice.  Generally,  use  nothing  for  the  vocal  organs  ;  they  will 
take  care  of  themselves.  Acids,  and  astringents,  also  muffling 
up  the  throat  and  chest,  all  are  bad.  It  should  be  daily  exercise 
and  rest  when  tired.  Deep  breathing  induces  sleep  at  night. 

Sunlight. 

The  total  exclusion  of  the  sun's  beams  induces  an  impover- 
ished state  of  the  blood,  muscular  debility,  dropsical  effusion, 
softening  of  the  bones,  nervous  excitability,  irritability  of  the 
heart,  loss  of  appetite,  consumption,  physical  deformity,  stunted 
growth,  mental  impairment,  premature  old  age. 

Many  persons  keep  themselves  pale  and  sickly  by  means  of 
parasols,  umbrellas,  shaded  rooms,  and  in-door  life  generally. 
Parasols  should  be  dispensed  with  excepting  in  the  hottest 
weather. 

Those  who  are  ever  in  the  pure  air  and  sunlight,  and  chil- 


83 

dren  who  play  much  out  of  doors,  generally  present  a  ruddy, 
healthy  appearance.  Where  there  is  sun  there  is  thought. 
All  physiology  goes  to  confirm  this.  Where  there  is  shade  there 
is  degeneracy  and  weakness.  The  sun  is  the  dispenser  of  power 
and  beauty. 

Massage. 

The  "massage"  treatment,  which  is  little  understood  in 
this  country,  is  the  vigorous  manipulation,  or  kneading,  pinch- 
ing, rolling,  and  pulling  of  the  skin  and  muscles,  until  the 
whole  surface  of  the  body,  except  the  face,  has  been  submitted 
to  a  process  of  <;  terrible  tractoration."  The  effect  of  massage 
is  to  stimulate  the  skin,  and  to  give  tension  and  firmness  to  the 
flabby  muscles.  After  a  short  course  of  treatment,  the  nails 
become  pink,  the  veins  show  where  before  none  were  to  be  seen, 
the  larger  vessels  grow  fuller,  and  the  whole  tint  of  the  limbs 
clear  and  transparent. 

We  move  our  active  members  merely  for  the  sake  of  moving 
them,  prompted  by  an  inward  power.  When  refreshed  and  in 
high  health  this  spontaneous  force  is  at  its  height ;  feeble 
health  and  exhaustion  reduce  it  to  zero.  Every  day  much  of  this 
overflow  runs  to  waste  or  may  be  turned  to  good  account.  Our 
wants,  pains,  or  pleasures  determine  its  direction,  and  by  their 
stimulation  increase  its  amount.  One  rises  to  his  utmost  when 
the  fund  of  natural  power  is  high,  and  when  he  is  under  a 
powerful  emotion  ;  such  as  the  energy  of  a  race,  of  acting,  or 
of  an  adventure  of  great  moment.  Men  of  large  muscles  are 
likely  to  display  a  great  amount  of  muscular  movement,  useful 
or  athletic. 

Muscle  is  not  the  chief  source  of  natural  energy.  Even  in 
the  man  of  giant  powers,  the  brain  counts  for  something. 
Besides  the  muscles,  a  certain  share  of  power  is  due  to  cerebral 
currents  flowing  to  them,  and  derivable  in  their  physical  source 
from  the  nutrition  supplied  to  the  nervous  substance.  In  many 
cases  the  activity  may  be  more  owing  to  the  quality  of  the  brain 
than  the  muscles,  or  indolence  might  be  the  characteristic. 
It  may  be  after  all  owing  to  the  quality  of  the  brain  that  comes 


84  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

the  activity,  but  the  co-operation  of  a  good  muscular  system 
will  bring  about  a  much  greater  result,  more  sustained  and  vig- 
orous in  enduring  power. 

The  last  and  most  irresistible  charm  of  genius  is  the  easy 
curbing  of  expenditure  which  is  the  divine  girdle  of  art.  The 
bewitchment  of  the  fairest  of  the  goddesses  lay  in  her  cestus. 
The  enchanting  cestus  of  art  is  continence  around  strength. 
Human  nature  flung  back  on  its  elemental  experiences,  in  their 
extremest  energy,  breaks  loose  from  such  restrictions. 

Vitality — Exercise,  Bodily. 

Mental  physiology  shows  an  agreement  of  functional  action 
between  the  cerebro-spinal  and  ganglionic  systems,  constitu- 
ting nervous  unity,  which  is  essential  to  mental  health  and 
which  is  manifested  by  correct  senses.  If  the  cerebral  functions 
are  in  excess,  the  functions  of  organic  life,  circulation,  respira- 
tion, digestion,  assimilation,  and  secretion,  become  impaired  ; 
during  which  visions,  mania,  and  delusions  may  occur,  with 
irritability  ;  if  the  animal  and  vital  functions  are  in  excess,  the 
cerebral  and  intellectual  faculties  may  become  weakened.  Ex- 
cessive mental  action  withdraws  and  diverts  the  nervous  power 
from  other  parts  to  the  brain,  and  thereby  exhausts  the  organic 
and  vital  system,  induces  indigestion  and  sleeplessness,  which 
are  common  precursors  to  insanity.  The  same  with  a  large 
brain  and  small,  weak  animal  powers ;  but,  if  there  are  large 
vital  and  physical  organs  with  the  circulating,  respiratory  and 
digestive  functions  vigorous,  the  nervous  equilibrium,  if  ex- 
hausted by  cerebral  action,  is  easily  restored,  having  so  much 
vitality  to  afford  recuperation. 

The  ganglionic,  sympathetic,  and  cerebro-spinal  systems, 
like  the  cerebral,  are  characterized,  in  their  organical  structure, 
by  medullary  fascicoli,  fibrous  bundles,  and  coils  ;  and  also  by 
a  grey  cineritious  matter  and  nucleated  cells ;  but  more  especially 
7)y  the  ganglionic  globules.  The  ganglia,  coils,  and  plexuses, 
form  nervous  magazines,  or  batteries,  to  generate  and  accumu- 
late nerve  force ;  and  the  grey  organic  fibres  are  found  to  ac- 


VITALITY— EXERCISE,    BODILY.  85 

company  the  sentient  fibres,  which  intermix  with  and  constitute 
the  sympathetic  ganglia  and  subserve  to  their  concentric  and 
peripheral  distribution,  perhaps  as  well  as  to  their  organic  func- 
tions. 

The  whole  strength  and  subtlety  of  the  body  is  health,  It 
is  the  force  of  a  strong  arm  from  the  shoulder,  as  well  as  the 
most  delicate  touch  of  the  fingers.  It  must  be  full,  fine 
strength,  to  have  art  executively  noble.  It  should  be  delicate 
restraint,  with  vigorous  impulse  ;  not  ineffectual  sensibility. 
Fine  art  is  not  essentially  athletic. 

The  appearances  that  most  decisively  indicate  degrees  of 
quality  are  chiefly  quickness  and  vigor  of  the  movements  gen- 
erally. When  a  vehement,  bustling  activity  accompanies  a 
lively  demonstrative  manner  in  all  that  regards  the  expression 
of  feeling,  and  a  rapidity  of  thought  and  conception,  as  seen  in 
quick  utterance,  ready  comprehension,  and  instantaneous  re- 
sponses, the  quality  of  the  brain  is  doubtless  of  a  better  kind, 
or  the  temperament  is  the  nervous.  The  nutrition  flows  to  the 
nervous  substance,  placing  the  muscular  system,  digestion  or 
other  parts  below  the  average,  and  presenting  a  feeble  frame. 
In  such  persons, 'every thing  that  can  rouse  a  feeling  or  volition 
yields  a  geater  return  than  in  others.  Their  habitual  demeanor 
corresponds  to  the  moments  of  excitement  of  other  persons. 
And  so  great  may  be  the  tendency  of  the  system  to  derive  nu- 
triment for  its  own  aggrandizement,  that  this  high  pitch  of  the 
mental  manifestations  generally,  may  be  sustained  through  life; 
although  it  too  often  happens  that  the  drain  is  in  excess  of 
what  the  general  system  can  bear  and  leads  to  fits  of  exhaus- 
tion or  even  decay  of  some  vital  organ.  Hence  the  double 
meaning  '  nervous.'  In  one  it  is  a  mind  of  energy  in  all  ways, 
and  is  identical  with  one  of  the  most  important  modes  of 
human  power  and  superiority;  in  the  other,  it  bears  reference 
to  the  impoverishment  of  the  general  system,  and  that  is  feeble- 
ness. Then  is  the  difference  in  the  force  of  the  blow,  as  well  as 
the  whole  amount  of  the  spontaneous  energy,  marking  out  the 
persistent  type  from  the  more  excitable.  Such  a  one  will  work 
longer,  harder  and  be  more  devoted  to  his  pursuit.  Whatever 
he  finds  to  do  he  will  do  it  with  might.  This  has  nothing,  how- 


86  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

ever,  to  do  with  the  quality.  He  may  do  bad  work,  but  he  will 
not  be  idle.  This  depends  as  to  undue  prominence  of  the  sys- 
tem, and  an  increase  at  the  expense  of  the. feelings  and  the  in- 
telligence. It  is  the  mere  venting  of  the  activity  without  con- 
trol for  one's  best  interest  and  of  others.  Good  is  chance,  it 
may  be  mischief.  Mere  abundance  of  natural  energy  is  no 
security  for  the  profitable  employment  of  it.  Much  indifferent 
work,  but  finishes  nothing  well.  A  victim  to  unbalanced  force. 
"Wild  rampant,  because  lacking.  No  far-sightedness,  no  con- 
centration of  a  high  order.  The  desultory  will  prevail  over 
distant  considerations.  It  is,  however,  one  foundation  for  en- 
durance, patience,  courage,  and  self-reliance,  to  assist  and  to 
resist,  to  sustain.  A  feeble  endowment  succumbs,  while  it 
throws  off  or  does  not  take  on  fear,  which  paralyzes.  The  full 
swing  of  action  carries  conviction  ;  it  is  only  to  the  sensitive 
mind  that  doubts  are  suggested.  Action  by  itself  is  blind,  and 
therefore  confident.  So  irresistible  are  the  promptings  of  the 
genuinely  energetic  temperament  that  a  man  cannot  lie  still 
even  in  pain. 

The  active  man  manifests  power,  the  passive  luxuriates  in 
the  sentiment.  It  is  the  essence  of  the  pure  energetic  temper- 
ament, still  to  energize,  and  not  to  enjoy  even  the  fruits  of 
energy.  He  is  the  procuring  cause  of  emotion  to  others  more 
than  to  himself. 

Mere  exercise  is  straggling,  broken,  fitful,  but  drill  is  regu- 
lar, symmetric,  rhythmical,  and  has  an  influence  to  refine  and 
exalt  by  economizing  and  directing  the  forces,  while  enhancing 
them.  It  is  a  discipline  of  art.  In  its  final  completeness,  cor- 
poreal and  mental,  it  gives  one  an  easy  confidence,  a  feeling  of 
competency.  It  enables  one  to  stand  up  with  a  free  chest  and 
an  alert  spirit,  and  look  straight  into  men's  eyes  and  perform 
tasks  without  flurry. 

^Esthetic  Gymnastics. 

A  perfected  system  of  aesthetic  gymnastics,  regulated  by  the 
exactest  rhythm  and  fitted  to  liberate  every  articulation,  to 


AESTHETIC   GYMNASTICS.  87 

develop  every  muscle,  and  harmonize  and  exalt  every  nerve, 
applied  even  from  childhood,  for  perfecting  men  and  women 
for  the  completest  fulfilment,  is  the  great  need  of  the  age.  Co- 
ordinating all  our  bodily  organs  and  spiritual  faculties,  unify- 
ing the  outward  organism  and  the  inward  consciousness,  it 
would  open  to  men  and  women  the  highest  conditions  of  health 
and  inspiration,  and  raise  them  towards  a  loftier  estate.  The 
simultaneous  education  of  bodies  and  souls  would  make  them 
strong  and  beautiful,  and  free  and  happy  in  every  limb  and 
faculty.  The  harmonious  development  of  all  portions  of  our 
being  would  raise  the  whole  higher  than  any  fragment  could  be 
lifted  alone.  Plato  and  Sophocles  were  both  crowned  victors 
in  the  Olympic  games. 

The  ancient  Greeks  paid  the  same  attention  to  physical  as 
to  mental  training.  We  pay  tribute  to  their  excellence,  but 
ignore  the  means.  We  praise  and  copy  their  statuary,  but  the 
models  were  furnished  by  their  system  of  physical  training. 

It  is  not  enough  to  take  exercise  ;  we  must  gain  something 
and  distinguish  between  the  essential  and  not  so.  One  should 
persevere  in  a  few  wisely  directed  movements  rather  than  in  a 
large  number  of  vague  ones.  With  such  even  the  weak  and 
debilitated  can  actually  become  sturdy.  You  should  have  every 
one  of  them  tend  to  ease,  dignity,  and  grace,  to  satisfy  the 
aesthetic  sense  and  have  them  tell  habitually  upon  the  bearing. 

It  is  those  whose  equilibrium  is  most  unstable  who  are  the 
most  irritable  and  resentful.  It  is  Aveakness  and  insecurity  that 
makes  one  fretful  and  quarrelsome.  The  more  gigantic  the 
resources  of  a  man  the  less  tempted  he  is  to  put  them  forth. 
It  is  the  weakling  who  is  waspish.  Whining  debility,  dyspeptic 
pallor,  and  fidgety  activity,  need  a  thorough  physical  regimen 
to  replenish  their  blood,  soothe  their  nerves,  and  give  a  solid 
equilibrium  to  their  energies.  Excessive  brain-work  cloys  the 
memory,  impoverishes  the  heart,  wearies  the  soul,  destroys  the 
capacity  for  simple  enjoyment.  A  full  force  of  vitality  trans- 
fuses the  elastic  frame  with  an  electric  consciousness  of  pleasure 
and  wealth.  There  is  nothing  so  inexhaustibly  fascinating  as 
an  exuberant  vigor  of  life  in  the  senses,  easily  shedding  annoy- 
ances, and  readily  transmuting  everything  to  good. 


88  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

Unhappy  temper  may  sometimes  be  caused  by  indigestion. 
A  walk  of  an  hour  or  more  in  the  open  air  will  likely  effect  a 
change. 

Under  morbid  states  of  digestion  the  memory  is  impaired, 
the  thoughts  wander,  and  all  mental  exertion  is  unsatisfactory. 

The  memory  seems  especially  affected  by  physical  condi- 
tions. Fatigue  and  exhaustion  at  times  greatly  diminish  its 
power. 

Health  is  a  large  ingredient  of  talent.  A  man  without  it 
may  be  a  giant  in  intellect,  but  his  deeds  are  those  of  a  dwarf. 
Peel,  Brougham,  Bright,  Gladstone,  all  prodigious  workers  at 
the  bar  and  in  the  senate,  yet  have  trained  their  bodies  with 
their  intellects. 

Without  bodily  strength  and  agility  all  mental  culture  is 
but  a  preparation  for  disappointment.  There  is  nothing  which 
so  taxes,  and  exhausts  the  life-force  as  mental  effort.  Instead 
of  being  pale  and  delicate,  the  thinker  needs  to  be  stalwart  and 
hardy.  It  should  be  health  rather  than  strength.  It  is  a  sound 
constitution  with  vital  power  that  gives  comfort. 

THE   ATTENTION. 

FEW  have  the  power  of  fixing  the  mind  upon  an  unattractive 
subject,  and  of  keeping  it  fixed  till  the  end  is  gained. 

No  truth  can  be  seen,  no  subject  understood,  unless  the  mind 
be  fixed  steadily  upon  it.  Long  continued  thoughtfulness — 
meditation — which  consists  mainly  in  fixing  the  attention  upon 
one's  work,  is  absolutely  necessary.  The  first  efforts  are,  how- 
ever, not  always  successful.  One  may  begin  with  vigorous  pur- 
pose, but  yet  the  mind  will  wander  in  another  direction.  The 
words  may  be  read  even  aloud,  but  no  ideas  perhaps  will  come 
of  the  thoughts,  for  while  the  mind  aims  at  one  object,  the 
heart  may  insensibly  be  drawn  to  another.  After  a  number  of 
trials,  one  may  be  able  to  keep  his  attention  fixed.  A  faithful 
piT.-i'verance  will  ultimately  prove  successful. 

Read  first  with  the  purpose  of  seizing  the  outline — the  frame- 
work. Fix  attention  on  the  successive  thoughts  which  consti- 


THE  ATTENTION.  89 

tute  the  train,  noting  the  relation  of  each  one  to  that  which 
follows.  Endeavor  to  remember  each  thought  by  its  relation 
to  that  which  preceded  it,  and  not  by  the  place  on  the  page. 
Let  the  successive  steps  be  mentally  reviewed  by  a  statement 
of  each  point,  and  then  by  a  statement  of  the  relations  they 
sustain  to  each  other.  Perfect  thoroughness  can  be  thus  secured, 
and  the  habit  of  seizing  and  retaining  trains  of  thought  formed. 
A  person  of  any  power  will  improve  precisely  in  proportion  to 
his  application.  We  have  more  power  than  will.  It  is  mere 
excuse,  generally,  that  we  fancy  things  impossible.  Profound 
investigation  is  little  more  than  concentrated,  long-continued 
attention. 

Not  one  in  a  thousand  has  enough  force  and  tenacity  of 
character  to  achieve  his  purpose.  Yet  the  mere  influence  of  a. 
strong  iron  will  amounts  to  almost  fascination. 

With  will  also,  you  must  have  a  generous  confiding  spirit, 
they  are  generally  allied,  if  you  wish  to  have  the  same  from 
others.  Insight  nor  affection  is  not  will.  Perception  is  cold, 
and  goodness  dies  in  wishes.  It  is  often  the  misfortune  of 
worthy  people  that  they  are  cowards.  There  must  be  a  fusion 
of  these  two  to  generate  the  energy  of  will.  There  can  be  no 
driving  force,  except  through  the  conversion  of  the  man  into 
his  will,  and  the  will  into  him.  One  should  be  wise  to  know 
and  bold  to  perform.  What  a  man  works  for  with  downright 
and  persevering  honesty,  that  and  the  satisfaction  of  it  he  shall 
at  last  have. 

There  is  only  one  thing  of  which  no  artist  can  ever  tire,  merit. 
The  passion  for  mere  popularity  grows  weak  and  cold,  and  dies 
out  in  disgust. 

Relief  or  its  prospect,  is  oftentimes  the  stimulant  to  labor. 
In  a  depressed  tone  of  mind,  or  with  exhausted  strength,  we 
are  indisposed  to  activity.  Effort  begins  with  conscious  amelio- 
ration, and  is  increased  as  that  increases. 

Brain  Power. 

Great  mental  exertion  cannot  be  safely  carried  on  at  the 
same  time  with  severe  bodily  exertion,  with  most  persons.  The 


90  ACTING    AXD    ORATOUY. 

double  tax  upon  the  system  is  too  great.  But  it  is  infinitely 
more  injurious  to  worry,  and  waste  nerve-power  in  useless  vexa- 
tion. Such  feelings  consume  force  and  deteriorate  nerve-fibre. 
Yet  the  mind  needs  employment,  not  only  for  its  own  sake,  but 
also  for  that  of  the  organism  with  which  it  is  intricately  involved. 
Mental  inactivity  is  the  occasion  of  an  amount  of  moral  and 
physical  suffering  which  seems  almost  incredible.  From  this 
proceeds  that  dreadful  irksomeness  among  the  opulent. 

But  there  are  not  a  few  who  cultivate  their  intellect  in  the 
most  eminent  degree  and  neglect  needful  physical  exercise  ; 
they  eat  and  drink  as  they  ought  not ;  sleep  irregularly,  and  in 
many  ways  abuse  their  bodies,  and  heedless  of  admonition  they 
continue  on  to  ruined  health  and  premature  decay. 

As  pure  air  not  only  invigorates  the  body,  but  likewise  ani- 
mates the  mind,  man  should  study  in  large  airy  rooms.  To 
some  persons  mental  application  is  always  irksome  ;  the  task  of 
thinking  is  the  most  unwelcome  to  them.  To  such  comes 
fatigue  and  exhaustion  much  sooner ;  and  the  efforts  are  more 
injurious  than  to  those  of  opposite  inclinations. 

A  temperate  exercise  of  the  intellect,  united  with  habitual 
muscular  activity,  is  most  favorable  to  the  general  health. 
Close  and  undivided  attention  to  any  one  object  is  apt  to  be 
followed  by  pains  and  dizziness  of  the  head,  palpitations  of  the 
heart,  general  lassitude  and  prostration,  diminished  appetite, 
emaciation,  a  care-worn  countenance  ;  or,  if  too  long  engrossed 
one  may  lose  the  power  of  seeing  it  aright  or  even  becoming 
insane  on  it. 

When  the  senses  have  been  clogged  the  person  pines  for 
novelty,  and  a  healthful  excitement  depends  on  variety.  Same- 
ness begets  ennui.  Even  change  of  scene  begets  renewed  power 
and  susceptibility.  Mutation  is  stamped  upon  all  the  works  of 
creation. 

There  is  but  one  cure  for  suffering,  and  that  is  in  extension 
and  variety  of  action  ;  and  a  healthy  mind,  like  a  healthy  body, 
should  lose  consciousness  of  self  in  the  energy  of  purpose.  In- 
crease of  knowledge  gives  an  increased  power  of  gaining  knowl- 
edge. The  will  is  sometimes  reluctant ;  but  held  persistently 
to  its  work  will  do  its  best  every  day.  If,  however,  you  modify 


BRAIX  POWER.  91 

or  methodize,  to  exhibit  self  and  dexterity,  work  will  in  that 
precise  degree  be  abortive,  for  at  the  bottom  of  all  great  mis- 
takes lies  pride  ;  but  with  hearty  love,  and  a  faithful  heart, 
open  to  every  fancy,  in  that  precise  degree,  work  will  be  great 
.and  good. 

The  principles  of  truth,  in  art,  are  often  involved  in  doubt 
iind  perplexity  ;  and  though  as  fixed  and  immutable  as  those  of 
science,  they  are  not  impressed  with  those  genuine  signatures 
of  demonstrative  certainty  that  force  consent. 

In  works  of  science,  innumerable  truths  can  be  demonstrated 
from  a  few  principles ;  but  in  taste,  principles  are  eternally 
varying  with  circumstances,  so  that  inattention  to  the  slightest 
feature  will  often  render  a  passage  absurd,  which  otherwise 
would  be  sublime. 

Rules,  therefore,  are  infallible  only  to  those  having  that 
•discriminating  perception  which  detects  the  slightest  variation. 
To  others,  they  are  mere  landmarks,  which  show  nothing. 

When  art  assumes  to  teach,  it  is  intelligible  only  as  the  level 
of  its  pupil  approaches  to  its  own  standard  of  knowledge.  It  is 
sympathetic  thought  by  sympathetic  capacity  and  the  innate 
power  of  mind  is  to  comprehend. 

Before  full  justice  can  be  done  there  must  be  a  mental  equi- 
librium. It  requires  perceptive  faculties  which  look  directly  to 
the  inner  sense  ;  and  keen  spiritual  appreciation,  with  a  pecu- 
liarly gifted  organization.  With  such  the  eye  is  the  window  of 
the  soul,  and  study  and  experience  increase  their  subtlety  and 
•depth  of  vision.  How  much  more,  then,  do  the  faculties  of 
obtuse  and  indifferent  persons  need  education  to  enable  them  to 
appreciate  the  entire  meaning  of  art. 

It  takes  years  to  learn,  not  genius,  for  that  is  not  acquired, 
tut  clearness,  sequence,  and  precision.  To  learn  to  weigh,  and 
investigate ;  to  note  filiation,  relationship,  and  to  rebuild. 
"Without  such  aids  one  gropes,  and  stumbles  ;  gets  entangled  in 
vagueness,  and  sonorous  common-places.  It  should  be  single-pur- 
posed, straight-forward,  and  a  free  play  of  the  faculties;  a  healthy 
conception  of  life  ;  less  disturbed,  jaded  ;  less  deformed  spirit ; 
these  make  the  capital  traits.  The  beautiful  comes  only  after 
long  and  careful  preparatory  culture. 


92  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

Selfishness  has  founded  its  system  in  the  lap  of  the  most 
refined  sociality,  and  we  experience  all  its  ills  without  its  af- 
fections. 

We  submit  our  free  judgment  to  its  despotic  opinion,  our 
feelings  to  its  fantastic  customs,  our  wills  to  its  seductions  ;  and 
maintain  only  our  caprice  against  its  solemn  rites*  Proud 
self-sufficiency  controls  the  heart  of  its  sympathy  ;  and  only  in 
a  complete  abjuration  of  sensibility  can  one  find  protection 
against  its  abuses.  With  the  bonds  of  civilization  the  fear  of 
losing  smothers  even  the  earnest  desire  for  improvement. 

Progression  is  only  a  mode  of  setting  the  mind  in  motion 
and  carrying  it,  in  spite  of  itself,  to  a  point  where  it  will  receive 
a  strong  impression  which  would  not  have  struck  it  unawares 
or  without  preparation. 

One  should  never  become  intoxicated  by  success  to  neglect 
study.  Labor  is  not  pleasant  to  many,  but  habit  makes  it  a 
source  of  high  enjoyment.  Right  habits  increase  our  power  to- 
do  right  and  lessen  difficulties. 

The  Memory. — The  power  of  the  memory  is  susceptible  of 
rapid  and  great  improvement.  The  law  of  its  growth  is  exer- 
cise ;  the  only  difficulty  is  indolence.  It  is  a  power  that  grows 
strong  by  the  work  it  does.  The  more  one  remembers  accu- 
rately, the  more  he  can  remember.  The  mind  should  be  exer- 
cised in  early  life  in  committing  to  memory.  It  is  not  as 
a  substitute  for  other  powers,  but  for  the  exercise  of  those 
powers. 

A  retentive  mind  is  shown  in  its  rapidity  in  making  acquisi- 
tions. The  identifying  by  the  stroke  of  recall  too  faint  or  ob- 
scure for  men  in  general. 

There  are  some  that  make  literary  work  the  sport  of  an 
enormously  active  intelligence  in  other  regions  of  the  mind,  yet 
who  fall  below  the  average  in  the  emotional  sensibilities  and 
those  that  give  character. 

The  negative  of  intellect  is  expressed  by  the  term  stupidity. 
One  may  be  stupid  in  discrimination  of  difference,  in  not  re- 
taining impressions,  in  not  seeing  agreement  among  things. 

Some  begin  everything  and  finish  nothing.  This  is  mere 
natural  or  spontaneous  activity  ;  but  mere  feeling,  or  mere  in- 


ENTERPRISE  AND    CONCEIT.  93 

tellect  exhausts  the  mind.  Great  energy,  however  acute  the 
susceptibility,  is  nothing  unless  highly  intellectualized.  There 
may  be  dashes,  but  nothing  persistent  and  steady. 

Examples  of  the  Races. — English  and  Eoman — moderate  and 
continued.  French — vehement ;  soon  exhausted.  Italians — 
excitable,  continuous. 

Accurate  observation  of  our  mental  operations  is  difficult. 
He  who  becomes  acute  must  train  his  mind  to  habits  of  mental 
analysis.  He  must  become  a  seer.  Some  things  however  are 
unexplainable,  and  one  may  see  what  is  unseen  by  others. 
Beauty,  for  instance,  cannot  be  analyzed.  It  is  useless  to  say 
what  beauty  and  truth  are,  except  they  are  beauty  and  truth. 
There  is  the  law  of  obscurity  in  everything,  without  which  the 
highest  excellence  cannot  exist.  If  it  be  distinct  it  is  bad ; 
nothing  is  correct  until  unintelligible. 

Study.  — Meditation. 

Over-much  study,  and  continual  meditation  without  relax- 
ing dulls  the  spirits,  abates  strength  and  courage  ;  good  scholars 
are  never  good  soldiers,  for  study  consumes  their  vigor.  Con- 
templation dries  the  brain,  extinguishes  the  natural  heat ;  for 
while  the  spirits  are  intent  in  the  head,  the  stomach  and  liver 
are  left  destitute,  and  thence  impurities  and  crudities  of  blood 
by  defects  of  concoction,  and  the  lack  of  insensible  exhalations 
that  arise  from  exercise. 

Hard  students  are  troubled  with  catarrh,  rheum,  weak 
eyes,  consumption  and  such  diseases  as  come  from  their  inactive 
habits  of  life. 

Enterprise  and  Conceit. 

Under  youthful  inspiration,  that  feels  a  power  in  such  im- 
mature confidence,  is  there  to  be  seen  only  conceit  ?  Or,  if  it 
be  conceit  that  nerves  young  creatures  to  enterprises  of  a  Her- 
cules, in  which  they  fail,  and  leave  them  to  try,  try,  try,  till 
they  fail  to  rise  again,  or  with  final  gasps  vise  and  triumph, 
then,  if  this  be  conceit,  let  us  be  thankful  for  conceit  and  be  a 


94  ACTJ\a  A.\J)  OHATOHV. 


little  lenient  even  to  the  simple.  Conceit  in  the  young  means 
the  possibility  of  immortal  success,  or  failure.  Without  con- 
ceit there  would  be  but  decent  respectability.  If  without  it 
there  need  be  no  bathos  of  presumption  in  the  dust,  there  could 
be  no  ascension  of  low-born  greatness  to  the  heights. 

Everything  is  good  which  takes  away  one  trifle  and  delusion 
more,  and  drives  us  home  to  add  one  stroke  of  faithful  work, 
Friends,  society  and  lower  duties,  flatteries  and  hopes,  are  all 
distractions.  Society  must  be  treated  as  a  child  and  not  allowed 
to  dictate. 

The  step  from  knowing  to  doing  is  rarely  taken.  Against 
the  spasm  of  energy  offset  the  continuity  of  drill.  The  crime 
which  bankrupts  is  the  declining  from  your  main  design,  to- 
turn  here  or  there. 

Pottering  about  in  a  few  square  yards  of  a  garden  is  dispirit- 
ing and  drivelling  ;  the  smell  of  plants  and  drugs  robs  one  of 
energy  ;  but,  long,  free  walks  free  the  brain,  and  serve  the 
body. 

The  mind,  if  not  mere  plodding,  is  capricious  in  its  work- 
ings, and  sometimes  will  not  be  consulted  as  to  Avluit  it  will  or 
will  not  do.  It  is  not  a  mere  machine.  It  must  go  its  own 
way.  and  be  left  alone  sometimes,  even  when  it  stoops  to  trifles. 
Many  of  its  processes  go  on  unbidden,  without  our  control.  In 
its  very  highest  effort  it  abhors  task-  work,  and  utterly  refuses 
to  be  a  drudge.  The  happiest  thoughts  are  those  sudden  illu- 
minations, those  flashes,  which  come  to  us  in  hours  of  relaxa- 
tion, of  play,  when  the  mind  roams  at  will. 

No  one  should  be  discouraged  because  he  does  not  get  on 
rapidly  from  the  start.  His  education  has  been  of  little  use  to 
him  if  it  has  not  taught  him  to  check  his  fretful  impatience,  the 
eager  haste  to  succeed.  The  great  secret  is  to  know  how  to- 
wait.  Almost  without  exception  the  greatest  have  been  the 
hardest  workers,  toiling  more  laboriously  than  smiths.  They 
have  taken  more  pains  than  other  men.  They  who  have  spread 
light  through  the  world,  had  often  scarcely  oil  for  the  lamp  by 
which  they  worked.  Genius  will  study.  Genius  is  nothing  but 
patience.  Michael  Angelo  said  it  was  all  study. 

Great  works  pass   beyond   the  ordinary  limits  of  time  and 


THE  LUNGS  AND  MENTAL  MOODS.  95 

space  ;  they  are  understood  by  every  thinking  mind  ;  their 
popularity  is  indestructible  and  their  duration  infinite. 

We  admire  the  firm  resolve,  which  maintains  itself  against 
suffering,  and  sudden  shocks,  tempting  seductions,  and  every 
diversity  of  violence  or  weakness  of  mind  or  body  attempted  to 
overcome  it.  Men  have  even  cured  themselves  of  painful 
diseases  by  a  herculean  effort  of  the  volition. 

The  chances  seem  infinite  against  success,  and  yet  it  is  con- 
tinually attained. 

The  eye. — Out-door  life,  hunting,  and  labor,  give  vigor  to  the 
eye.  The  eye  obeys  the  action  of  the  mind.  When  a  thought 
strikes  us.  the  eyes  fix,  and  remain  gazing  at  a  distance  ;  in  enu- 
meration the  eyes  wink  at  each  stroke  of  the  voice.  The  eyes 
converse  as  much  as  the  tongue.  When  the  eyes  say  one  thing, 
and  the  tongue  another,  a  practiced  man  relies  on  the  first.  If 
a  man  is  off  his  centre,  the  eye  shows  it.  You  can  read  a  man 
in  his  eyes.  Even  hospitality  is  seen  in  the  eye.  Each  man 
carries  his  exact  rank  in  his  eye.  There  is  a  peculiar  controlling 
power,  especially  in  men  of  great  vital  energy,  in  the  eye,  and  is 
applied  even  to  animals.  What  refinement  and  limitations  the 
teeth  betray.  If  one  laughs  he  shows  all  his  faults. 

The  look,  the  voice,  the  respiration,  the  attitude,  the  walk 
are  identical.  Watch  the  one  that  speaks  out  the  truth,  and  you 
know  the  whole  man. 

THE   LUNGS   AND    MENTAL   MOODS. 

THE  unimpeded  function  of  the  lungs  excites  an  open, 
cheerful  temper,  the  impeded,  a  feeling  of  depression,  some- 
times expressed  as  a  "free"  or  an  "oppressed"  chest. 

The  inspiration  of  a  free,  clear  atmosphere,  by  promoting 
the  circulation,  gives  a  feeling  of  heightened  vitality  both  on- 
the  receptive  and  reactive  side.  The  inspiration  of  vitiated 
air,  as  of  a  close  room  which  impedes  breathing,  especially  in 
a  sitting  posture,  produces  a  peevish,  timid,  gloomy  temper. 

The  inhabitants  of  mountains  are  noted  for  their  courageous 
and  cheerful  disposition,  while  those  of  low  lands  and  of  the 
towns  are  less  likelv  to  be  so. 


i)U  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

Dyspepsia  creates  peevish,  irritable,  hypochondriacal,  egotis- 
tical moods.  Long  repose  disposes  to  melancholy ;  motion  to 
cheerfulness. 

The  young  man  is  powerfully  impelled  in  the  direction  of 
the  will ;  the  maiden,  of  feeling.  Images  of  undefined  delight 
float  before  their  minds  ;  soothing  and  rapturous  emotions  alter- 
nate in  a  constant  tumult  of  ecstasy ;  and  love  with  flattering 
but  despotic  hands  seizes  the  sceptre.  When  happily  controlled, 
love  becomes  the  source  of  the  most  beautiful  physical  devel- 
opments ;  and  he  who  has  never  loved,  is,  or  Avill  become,  ego- 
tistical, mean,  narrow-minded,  covetous,  timid,  gross.  If  ill- 
directed,  this  terrible  passion  becomes  a  source  of  most  deplora- 
ble sufferings. 

Even  the  beauty  of  the  human  countenance  depends  much 
upon  the  condition  of  the  mind.  One  can  change  the  condi- 
tion of  the  mind  and  it  will  change  the  expression  of  the  coun- 
tenance and  person.  One  may  be  educated  to  a  keener  sense 
of  beauty  by  instruction  or  by  circumstances. 

Our  cognitions  are  always  of  particulars, — but  by  classifica- 
tion we  condense  our  knowledge  and  make  it  manageable. 

Circumstances  compel  men  to  perceive  truth  more  readily, 
and  this  power  is  more  fully  developed. 

In  some,  the  perceptive,  and  in  others  the  emotive  element 
predominates  as  to  beauty.  It  is  cultivated  by  exercise ;  by 
studying  the  choicest  specimens  of  nature  and  art.  Such 
studies  heighten  the  sense  of  the  beautiful ;  improve  the  power 
of  perceiving  beauty ;  and  by  this  forming  of  higher  concep- 
tions, they  raise  and  refine  the  mind. 

The  emotion  of  sublimity  is  more  intense  and  transient  than 
that  of  beauty. 

Beauty  should  be  studied  in  subordination  to  truth  and 
goodness.  The  effect  unmixed  is  enervation.  Even  when 
there  is  much  genius  and  originality,  an  excess  of  art,  a  too 
deep  suffusion,  a  too  fine  flush,  are  defective. 

Beauty  in  Milton  is  in  pristine  purity.  A  more  absolute 
beauty,  and  delicate,  aerial  grace  are  not  to  be  found  than  in 
the  Fourth  Book  of  "Paradise  Lost." 


APOTHEGMS.  97 

The  contemplation  of  a  fine  building  unconsciously  elevates  a 
susceptible  mind,  and  maintains  it  in  a  fit  frame  for  apprecia- 
ting beauty.  A  taste  for  architecture  seems  to  form  the  basis 
of  an  artistic  taste. 

APOTHEGMS. 

Do  not  live  for  self  alone.  Think  less  of  self,  and  the  world 
will  think  more  of  you.  Too  much  of  ourselves,  too  little  of  art. 
Sacrifice  self-interest  for  noble  purpose. 

In  order  to  be  applauded,  we  must  not  too  much  applaud 
ourselves. 

The  first  test  of  greatness  is  humility ;  yet  one  must  have 
knowledge  of  self  and  all  he  can  do. 

God  never  gave  fine  talents  to  be  used  for  selfish  ends.  The 
greater  our  gifts,  the  greater  should  be  our  yield  to  the  world. 

Overawe  spite  and  meanness,  teach  others  to  stifle  the  base, 
and  choose  the  generous  expression,  and  thus  be  the  happier. 

A  calm  and  just  estimate  of  one's  powers  may  be  well  regu- 
lated esteem,  but  not  pride. 

Thousands  impair  their  reasoning  powers  through  an  ex- 
travagant and  mistaken  estimate  of  themselves.  Undue  praise 
may  endanger  the  soundness  of  a  conceited  mind ;  even  the 
most  vigorous  may  be  turned. 

A  desire  for  fame  is  just ;  but  vanity  and  undue  display  de- 
testable. 

The  desire  of  appearing  clever  often  prevents  being  so  con- 
sidered. 

It  is  a  great  ability  to  be  able  to  conceal  one's  ability. 

Gentleness  of  greatness  in  the  heart,  and  power  of  thought 
in  the  brain. 

The  compassion  and  the  joy  that  are  woven  into  the  inner- 
most fabric  of  every  great  imaginative  spirit. 

The  joy  of  the  spirit  indicates  its  strength.  Health  is  sweet 
tempered. 

Genius  works  in  sport,  and  goodness  smiles  to  the  last.  He 
who  desponds  betrays  that  he  has  not  seen  the  law. 

People  of  little  minds  are  not  happy  in  art  for  its  own  sake  ; 
7 


ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

while  at  work  they  always  have  before  their  eyes  what  they  shall 
get  by  what  they  are  doing.  Such  tendencies  never  yet  pro- 
duced greatness. 

The  mark  of  the  man  is  the  absence  of  pretension. 

No  act  is  great  when  not  the  result  of  a  great  design. 

Great  names  debase  those  who  cannot  sustain  them. 

Great  souls  are  not  of  less  passion  and  more  virtue,  but  of 
great  designs. 

'Tis  fine  souls,  not  what  is  called  fine  society.  Fine  society 
has  neither  ideas  nor  aims.  It  is  unprincipled  decorum  :  clean 
linen,  gloves,  cards,  elegance  in  trifles.  There  are  other  meas- 
ures of  self-respect. 

Weak  persons  cannot  be  sincere.  Firmness  is  real  gentle- 
ness ;  the  appearance  is  generally  weakness.  Indolence  attaches 
itself  to  ease.  It  suspends  our  most  ardent  pursuits  and  firm- 
est resolves. 

Have  the  courage  to  be  independent,  to  be  excused  when  one 
interferes  with  duty. 

The  child  is  torn  asunder  with  the  difficulty  of  fixing  atten- 
tion for  a  length  of  time  upon  one  thing. 

If  a  man  has  failed  you  will  find  that  he  has  dreamed  instead 
of  working.  There  is  no  way  to  success  but  to  take  off  your 
coat  and  work  like  a  digger,  all  day  and  every  day. 

Rough  water  can  teach  us  lessons.  Don't  be  so  tender  at 
making  an  enemy  now  and  then.  He  who  aims  high  must  ex- 
pect steep  and  craggy  paths.  Nature  is  no  sentimentalist ;  she 
does  not  cosset  and  pamper  us. 

Great  power  slow  or  rapid  to  overcome  obstacles,  is  sublime  ; 
gentle  power  inspires  tenderness. 

Intellect  raises  man  above  the  brute  ;  feeling  above  himself 
to  God. 

In  every  child  there  lies  a  wondrous  depth. 

Would  that  the  silver  threads  of  imagination  ever  entwined 
themselves  amid  the  fetters  of  discipline. 

The  tint  of  the  flower  begins  at  its  root. 

What  is  in  act  to  reach  beyond  is  not  bounded,  it  stream's 
with  life. 

Perfection  seems  to  be,  but  never  is,  within  our  grasp. 


APOTHEGMS.  99 

Eude  and  invincible  except  by  themselves  are  the  elements. 
So  let  man  be.  Let  him  empty  his  breast  of  conceits  and  show 
by  manners  and  deeds  on  the  scale  of  nature. 

The  race  is  great,  but  men  are  unsure.  The  hero  is  immov- 
ably centered.  Nothing  is  grand  which  is  not  calm. 

In  a  full  function  husbanded  force  has  the  prerogative  of 
continuous  renovation,  and  even  augmentation. 

The  general  idea — not  minuteness — constitutes  excellence. 

The  greatest  overcome  circumstances  to  which  others  submit. 
It  should  be  a"  high  standard  and  looking  steadily  up  to  it ;  like 
a  person  on  a  narrow  plank  over  an  abyss,  looking  not  to  it, 
but  steadily  to  some  point  beyond  ;  and  never  hesitating  but 
straight  across.  It  is  the  motive,  not  the  means. 

The  ancients  not  only  had  great  intentions,  but  produced 
great  effects.  The  moderns  also  have  great  intentions  but  are 
lacking  in  skill  and  power  of  fulfilment.  They  can  indeed  feel 
the  beauty  of  a  natural,  and  naive  design,  but  they  cannot  make 
such  ;  the  understanding,  not  the  imagination,  is  always  upper- 
most, and  will  not  permit  that  unconscious  and  enchanting  grace. 

No  other  art  can  rival  the  Greek  in  highly  intellectual  devel- 
opment, and  the  external  sensual  beauty  of  form  and  style. 
Yet  even  they  were  ignorant  of  that  principle  of  light,  which  is 
the  purest  of  all  merely  natural  elements,  recognizing  nature  as 
nature  only,  and  not  by  those  higher  spiritual  qualities  as  en- 
dowed by  the  Persian  and  German  theology,  so  different  from 
that  rude  materialism. 

Men  have  capacities  for  immensities  of  greatness  if  they 
would  dare  to  employ  them. 

There  are  none  but  men  of  strong  passions  capable  of  going 
to  greatness.  Passion,  though  a  bad  regulator,  is  a  powerful 
spring.  Great  art  is  the  expression,  by  an  art-gift,  of  a  great 
soul.  You  can  read  characters  of  men  in  their  works.  Art  is 
the  work  of  the  whole  spirit  of  man,  not  of  his  hands  alone. 
The  feelings  were  in  his  soul ;  he  put  them  into  shapes  and  the 
world  was  at  his  feet. 

Mere  manual  execution  may  be  excellent,  still  vivid  imagin- 
ation is  the  attribute  of  attributes,  which  renders  art  pree'mi- 
nentlv  beautiful. 


100  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

In  the  quivering  or  vibration  of  the  air,  first  in  power,  and 
most  intense,  is  the  throat  of  the  bird ;  which  is  the  air  incar- 
nate. All  that  in  the  wind  itself  is  weak,  useless  in  sweet- 
ness, is  knit  together  in  its  song,  which  is  the  spirit  of  life. 

Power  acquired  is  security  for  that  which  is  unacquired. 

The  heir  of  eternity,  scorning  to  be  the  slave  of  time,  lets 
his  dreams  go  by  ungrasped,  his  magnificent  promises  un- 
realized. 

Struggle  again  and  yet  again,  before  you  call  upon  Hercules. 

Life  is  according  to  the  man  and  not  the  work  or  place.  A 
man's  fortunes  are  the  fruits  of  his  character.  If  the  wall 
remain  adamant,  it  accuses  the  want  of  thought.  To  a  subtler 
force,  it  will  stream  into  new  forms,  expressive  of  the  character 
of  the  mind. 

Truth  is  in  the  air,  and  the  most  impressionable  brain  will 
announce  it  first.  His  mind  is  greater  because  it  yields  to  a  cur- 
rent so  feeble  as  can  be  felt  only  by  a  needle  delicately  poised. 

Strip  off  habit  and  let  the  soul  utter  itself  in  whatever  mood 
nature  prompts.  It  is  not  a  good  thing  to  have  acquired  too 
much  facility.  Women  do  the  most  through  the  imagination 
and  temperament. 

Not  affected  elegance  or  sublimity,  but  so  natural  that  every 
one  would  think  they  could  do  so. 

If  the  air  comes  to  our  lungs,  we  live.  If  the  light  comes  to 
our  eyes,  we  see.  And  if  truth  comes  to  our  mind,  we  suddenly 
expand  to  its  dimensions  which  are  limitless. 

Ideas  and  emotions  once  received  into  the  soul  are  a  part  of 
it  forever.  From  admiration  to  imitation  is  but  a  step. 

Nothing  is  impossible ;  there  are  ways,  and  if  we  had  the 
will,  we  should  have  the  means. 

Generally  the  temper  which  would  make  an  admirable 
artist  is  humble  and  observant ;  capable  of  taking  much  in- 
tei'est  in  little  things,  and  of  interesting  itself  under  dull  cir- 
cumstances. 

Delicacy  of  taste  tends  to  invigorate  the  affections.  The 
in-dwelling  light  of  the  soul  should  be  recognized  in  every  art, 
expressive  as  a  spoken  word. 

Veracity  first  of  all  and  forever.    Not  too  much  noise  to  rep- 


APOTHEGMS.  101 

resent  noise,  nor  too  much  grief  for  sorrow.  It  requires  the 
happiest  balance  to  be  able  to  seize  a  great  passion  without 
being  carried  away  by  it. 

He  who  best  wishes  to  learn  how  to  express  his  feelings 
must  learn  according  to  the  rules  of  art.  One  must  learn 
how  far  the  real  must  be  avoided  so  as  not  to  mar  the  effect 
of  art. 

Let  not  talent  rely  on  its  own  natural  resources,  but  devote 
itself  to  art,  and  seek  those  who  can  show  him  what  to  do  with 
what  he  has. 

Leonardo  da  Vinci  said,  "  If  he  knows  not  how  to  bring 
out  his  drawings  by  deep  shades,  so  round,  that  one  can  take 
hold  of  the  forms,  he  has  no  talent."  Do  not  judge  by  one's 
good  qualities,  but  by  the  use  made  of  them. 

It  is  better  to  know  thoroughly,  than  to  know  a  great  deal. 

Science  well  digested  is  only  good  sense. 

It  is  not  for  the  spirit  to  give  way  to  the  letter. 

The  most  valiant  believe  in  the  tension  of  the  laws.     Such 
perform  vast  achievements  by  conforming  to  the  rules  of  art. 
Michael  Angelo  drew  his  figures  first  in  skeleton,  then  fleshed 
them,  and  lastly  draped  them. 

What  the  artist  does  is  sure  to  excite  in  us  the  self-same 
mood.  A  free  mood  in  the  artist  makes  us  free  ;  a  restrained 
one  restrains  us.  We  usually  find  this  freedom  in  the  artist 
who  is  fully  grown  up  to  his  work. 

No  matter  what  the  natural,  a  man  without  a  plan  will  be 
squared  to  those  lines  that  make  him  ww-natural. 

It  is  often  the  fate  of  talent,  undirected,  although  it  labors 
more  steadily  and  perseveringly  than  genius,  it  does  not  reach  a 
goal. 

To  some  we  dare  no  longer  apply  the  measuring  scale  of  age, 
but  only  that  of  fulfilment. 

Contraries  meet,  and  extremes  touch. 

A  man  may  balance  on  the  tight-rope,  but  consciously  or 
unconsciously  he  must  conform  to  the  laws  of  nature.  A  fine 
disorder  even  is  often  the  effect  of  art.  Confusion  is  only  a 
method  of  rendering  order  invisible  in  a  happy  disorder. 

Always  give  in  the  best  manner  the  best. 


102  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

By  obeying  each  thought  frankly,  by  harping,  by  pounding 
on  each  string,  we  learn  at  last  its  power. 

Art  lies  in  making  your  object  prominent,  but  the  prior  art 
is  to  choose  prominent  objects.  We  never  think  of  the  founda- 
tion when  the  fabric  is  reared,  nor  is  it  necessary  to  see  it,  but 
yet  it  is  there.  Fancy  prices  are  paid  for  position,  and  for  the 
culture  of  talent,  but  to  the  grand  interests,  superficial  success 
is  of  no  account.  It  is  all  name,  not  powers  ;  feats,  not  forces. 

It  is  not  simple  elevation,  but  with  an  object.  The  imagina- 
tion does  not  move  by  instinctive  impulse  without  being  pre- 
ceded by  knowledge. 

Not  through  material,  but  spiritual.  That  which  we  seek 
will  be  found  when  the  time  shall  have  arrived  ;  not  in  the 
chance,  which,  enriching  one,  brings  ruin  to  others,  but  by 
looking  steadily  to  a  higher  object. 

Praise  stimulates,  honor  delights  ;  non-success  brings  tears. 

Cultivate  powers  under  a  sense  of  ambition  ;  reproach  stings 
such  as  honor  incites. 

He  only  who  has  enjoyed  immortal  moments  can  reproduce 
them.  Whatever  a  man  absolutely  loves,  that  he  worships  or 
esteems  dearest  to  his  soul. 

Culture  corrects  the  theory  of  success. 

Greek  battle-pieces  are  calm  ;  the  heroes,  in  whatever  violent 
action,  retain  a  serene  aspect,  and  a  cheerful,  intelligent  face  is 
the  end  of  culture. 

The  sovereign  ability  consists  in  knowing  values.  Get  the 
spirit  of  aids  and  dispense  with  their  forms. 

Beauty,  unlit  by  soul,  soon  becomes  tiresome  ;  mere  pretti- 
ness  much  sooner.  Greek  slave,  polished,  dainty.  Theseus, 
truth,  power,  life. 

Too  great  refinement,  is  false  delicacy  ;  and  true  delicacy  is 
solid  refinement. 

Coarseness  is  sometimes  necessary  to  protect  us  from  artful 
men. 

Nature  creates  merit,  art  cultivates  it,  and  fortune  brings  it 
into  action.  Some  are  mean  with  great  merit.  Faults  sit  well 
on  some,  good  qualities  awkwardly  on  others.  You  cannot 
make  a  genius,  but  you  can  refine  him,  and  make  him  into 


APOTHEGMS.  103 

something ;  but  not  one  grain  of  him  can  you  originally  pro- 
duce. 

Good  use  of  moderate  abilities  wins  esteem,  and  often  con- 
fers more  than  real  merit. 

The  greatest  ambition  has  not  the  slightest  appearance  of  it 
when  it  fails  to  reach  its  aspirations. 

One  may  easily  lift  the  armor  he  cannot  wear. 

The  art  of  pleasing  consists  in  being  pleased.  To  be  amia- 
ble is  to  be  satisfied  with  one's  self  and  others. 

In  society,  good  temper  and  amiability  with  animal  spirits 
are  nearly  everything. 

Civility  is  the  best  of  clothing,  or  the  finest  jewels  ever  worn. 
One  well-bred  makes  a  whole  society  of  such. 

Those  accustomed  to  high  position  are  easy  and  uncon- 
strained in  manners  and  demeanor,  while  those  newly  advanced 
from  a  lower  condition. or  aspiring  to  such  an  advance,  are 
slaves  to  etiquette  and  ceremony. 

Eefined  feelings  must  always  be  correct,  though  correct  feel- 
ings may  not  always  be  refined. 

The  man  of  taste  readily  extricates  himself  from  the  uncouth 
yoke  of  instinct.  He  subdues  impulse  to  reason.  It  should  be 
love  rather  than  mere  duty.  Taste  demands  decency  and  abhors 
what  is  hard,  angular  and  violent. 

Affectation  of  refinement  is  detected  even  by  a  boor  ;  while 
gentle  grace,  with  strength  and  dignity  he  honors. 

Bad  habits  diminish  a  man's  habits  for  doing  right. 

The  Arcadians  being  compelled  to  study  music  in  order  to 
soften  their  manners,  changed  from  the  most  morose  and  worst 
behaved,  to  the  most  honest  and  urbane  of  the  Greeks. 

The  voice  of  one  person  exercises  an  influence  which  the 
same  words  uttered  by  another  would  not  possess. 

Life  expresses.  A  statue  has  no  need  of  a  tongue.  In  man 
she  tells  the  secret  all  the  time,  by  form,  attitude,  gesture, 
mien,  and  all  the  parts  of  the  face.  His  manners  are  thought 
entering  the  hands  and  feet,  and  controlling  the  actions,  the 
speech  and  behavior.  Manners  are  the  happy  ways  of  doing 
things  :  each,  once,  a  stroke  of  genius,  or  of  love,  now,  repeated 
and  hardened  into  usage. 


104  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

Wise  men  read  sharply,  all  in  your  look,  and  gait,  and  be- 
havior. The  whole  economy  of  nature  is  bent  on  expression. 
The  tell-tale  body  is  all  tongues.  The  tone  that  flatters  the 
ear  does  not  always  enter  the  heart.  Pearls  do  not  float  on  the 
surface  ;  they  must  be  sought  for  in  the  deep,  often  with  danger. 
We  forgive  the  diamond  its  sharp  edges  ;  it  is  a  costly  labor  to 
round  them. 

The  artist  should  be  as  cheerful  as  a  Grecian  god,  in  his  in- 
tercourse with  life  and  men  ;  but  when  they  dare  approach  too 
near,  he  should  disappear,  leaving  nothing  but  clouds  behind 
him. 

He  who  courts  solitude  alone  is  soon  alone.  A  too  long- 
continued  absence  from  the  world  affects  the  artist  injuriously  ; 
he  accustoms  himself  to  certain  forms  and  mannerisms,  until 
he  becomes  an  exception — a  visionary.  Yet  frequent  solitude 
is  to  genius  the  stern  friend,  the  cold,  obscure  shelter,  where 
moult  the  wings  which  will  bear  it  further  than  the  sun.  Art 
and  science  are  illimitable  ;  their  study  never  terminates  ;  and 
solitude  is  imperatively  necessary  for  prolonged  attention,  for 
profound  meditation  in  one's  labors  ;  it  is  the  source  of  great 
thoughts.  Meditation  is  the  great  lack  of  to-day. 

The  same  infinity,  unity  and  perfection  is  manifest  in  the 
casting  of  the  clay  as  in  the  scattering  of  the  cloud,  the  moul- 
dering of  the  dust,  or  the  kindling  of  the  day-star. 

Choice  checks  progress,  blasts  power ;  universality  is  the 
only  way.  All  great  art  is  delicate  ;  all  coarse  art  is  bad.  Great 
art  encompasses  the  entire  human  spirit.  Small  art  is  partial. 

Glorious  beauties  at  last,  at  some  late  day,  in  the  fulness  of 
reflective  sensibility  and  matured  taste,  which  the  limited  mind 
is  incapable  of  grasping.  It  lies  so  deep  but  yet  comes  forth  so 
involuntarily,  and  unconscious.  It  is  for  those  only  who  have 
a  life  within  to  see.  And  yet  at  best  only  partial,  for  neither 
memory  nor  sight  can  cope  with  the  infinite  and  ever-changing 
life.  The  unseen  far  exceeds  the  seen. 

Cold  affections,  sluggish  imaginations,  and  non-habits  of 
observation  cannot  discern  beauty  in  anything,  while  those  fine 
sensibilities  feel  it  in  almost  everything.  And  yet.  the  rough 
and  uncultivated  can  be  elevated  to  higher  perceptions. 


APOTHEGMS.  105 

Art  will  take  root  in  any  ingenuous  nature  with  a  mind  that 
has  no  aversion  to  labor  and  discipline. 

It  requires  uncommon  boldness  to  resist  the  rushing  tide  of 
Gothicism.  Eefinement  makes  the  least  show  to  ordinary 
minds. 

Touch  is  sight  of  the  body  ;  sight  is  touch  of  the  soul. 

True  eloquence  is  needles  in  the  heart. 

Single  talents  belong  to  extraordinary  men ;  happy,  and 
perfect,  and  uniform.  They  dare  to  be  wise  ;  and  to  look  up- 
ward to  dignity,  and  not  downward  to  prosperity. 

No  man  can  be  really  appreciated  but  by  his  equal  or  supe- 
rior. His  inferior  may  over-estimate  him,  in  his  enthusiasm, 
or  degrade  him,  in  his  ignorance.  It  must  be  an  estimate  by 
absolute  truth,  not  prepossession. 

Some  seem  to  know  more  than  they  really  do.  Real,  not 
fictional,  art,  is  low  but  excellent  in  itself. 

Men  think,  women  feel ;  men  are  profound,  women  sublime  ;. 
man  erect,  woman  shrinks  amid  danger ;  man  smiles,  woman 
laughs  ;  man  is  imagination,  woman  heart ;  man  firm,  woman 
flexible. 

Knowledge  in  the  head  and  wisdom  in  the  heart,  are  sure  to- 
be  wrong  if  we  do  not  feel  right. 

The  uncultivated  taste  is  at  first  novel  and  surprising  ;  it  is 
extravagant,  bizarre,  vehement,  and  avoiding  calm  simplicity. 
It  delights  in  grotesque  shapes,  harsh  transitions,  dazzling  con- 
trasts, glaring  lights,  pathetic  cant.  A  luxuriant  fancy  should 
be  subjected  to  a  thorough  discipline  of  taste. 

The  appreciation  of  art  spiritually,  ends  in  adoration  ;  a 
repose  of  mind  that  passeth  description. 

We  should  cultivate  the  emotional  facultie^  of  the  soul  sys- 
tematically. The  aesthetic  and  moral  affections,  sensibility  to- 
beauty,  sympathy,  truth,  justice,  and  duty  are  highly  suscepti- 
ble of  culture.  The  laws  are  subtle  but  immutable,  and  to- 
learn  well  we  should  listen  even  to  the  unsophisticated. 

The  world  of  art  is  devoted  to  the  gratification  and  improve- 
ment of  intelligent  mind  only,  and  therefore  narrowed  in  its 
scope  by  the  exclusion  of  low  degrees  of  beauty. 

In  one  sense  all  truth  comes  of  suggestion  ;  so,  too,  all  false- 


TOG  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

hood.  One  is  called  inspiration,  the  other  temptation.  Great 
truths  amid  rank  errors  ;  noble  aspiration  chained  to  vehement 
passion  ;  beauty  in  bondage  to  matter. 

The  art  of  life  is  to  know  how  to  enjoy  a  little  and  to  endure 
much.  Liberty  is  the  only  true  riches  ;  all  else  is  slavery. 
Progress  pets  no  one. 

Not  a  truth  has  to  art  and  science  been  given, 
But  brows  have  acted  for  it,  and  souls  toiled  and  striven. 

When  our  higher  faculties  are  in  activity,  awkwardness  gives 
place  to  natural  and  agreeable  movements.  S^iff  people  become 
sensibly  improved  under  a  high  dome  ;  in  the  expansive  interior 
of  a  cathedral ;  in  spacious  halls.  Sculpture  and  painting  teach 
men  manners  and  abolish  hurry.  There  is  as  much  in  the  voice, 
the  eye,  and  the  air  of  a  person  as  in  the  words.  Grandeur  and 
goodness  do  not  consist  in  ornament  and  dress. 

Men  have  spent  their  lives  in  doing  good  for  the  least  love- 
iible  of  their  race  ;  but  these  even,  are  not  always  men  of  great 
warmth  of  natural  affection.  The  upward  action  of  the  dra- 
matic art  is  its  benign  aspect.  The  egotist  in  such  looks  down 
to  learn  how  great  he  is.  and  up  to  learn  how  little.  The  gen- 
erous man  looks  up  to  feel  how  rich  he  is,  and  down  to  feel  how 
poor.  The  former  sees  himself  in  contrast  with  others,  the  latter 
in  unison.  In  pursuit  of  fame  one  feels  no  little  wants,  like  com- 
pliments, dress,  or  the  figure  he  makes  in  society.  One  who  has 
great  plans  to  pursue  must  keep  a  cool  head  and  a  warm  heart. 

There  is  a  blissful  tranquillity,  after  many  toils  and  tedious 
expectations,  in  finally  seeing  one's  dearest  wishes  gratified. 

Prosperity  arises  not  from  a  haste  to  do.  The  truest  success 
is  often  for  many  years  slow  and  imperceptible  ;  then  all  at 
once — when  the  *time  comes — then  is  the  crisis. 

Life  in  efforts  of  genius  is  the  same  as  of  nature.  It  pene- 
trates down  to  the  infinitely  small  ;  no  analysis  can  reach  the 
end — the  innumerable  and  profound  ;  uniting  all  in  the  harmo- 
nies of  the  ensemble. 

Have  unity;  not  rays  from  the  centre.  The  characteristic 
of  the  extraordinary  is,  that  it  cannot  always  be  understood — 
the  majority  understand  best  the  superficial  virtuoso. 


APOTHEGMS.  107 

It  is  a  principle  of  art,  founded  in  the  nature  of  the  feelings, 
to  leave  something  to  desire.  To  leave  something  to  the  imagina- 
tion is  better  than  to  express  the  whole.  Something  to  be  filled 
up  by  the  minds  of  others. 

First  accumulate  knowledge,  then  elaborate  it  for  the  good 
of  others. 

Knowledge  uncommunicated,  is  like  remorse  unconfessed. 
The  mind  turns  back  upon  itself,  and  becomes  morbidly  self- 
reflecting  and  self-conscious,  and  loses  strength  if  unused.  It 

o  *  o 

should  communicate  as  well  as  absorb.     Genuine  culture  is  en- 
thusiasm.    But,  say  all  that  is  necessary  and  nothing  more. 

Many  things  may  be  made  known,  for  a  long  time,  without 
producing  any  effect ;  or  the  effect  may  be  wrought  without 
being  observed,  and  yet  not  take  hold.  Sometimes  to  make 
even  the  same  impression,  the  blow  must  be  doubled  because 
prepared  for  it. 

Sometimes  people  do  not  appreciate  the  true,  but  demand 
clap-trap.  Genius  speaks  only  to  genius. 

With  some,  confidence  gives  even  a  fool  the  advantage. 
Sometimes  training  fails  of  effects  ;  all  success  is  hazardous 
and  rare  ;  a  large  part  of  one's  pains  is  thrown  away.  Nature 
takes  the  matter  into  her  own  hands,  and  though  we  may  omit 
nothing  we  may  not  be  sure  that  good  would  not  have  ac- 
crued from  a  different  system.  Nature  is  reality  ;  art  ideality. 
Acting  is  not  to  reflect  all  the  direct  and  unrelieved  facts  of  na- 
ture, but  to  present  a  selective  and  softened,  or  intensified 
reflection  of  them.  Art  plays  the  tune  of  nature,  but  with  va- 
riations. 

The  would-be  genius  hates  and  criticises  ;  true  genius  loves 
and  creates.  The  former  enviously  despises  those  who  succeed; 
the  latter  generously  admires  all  true  merit. 

One's  enemies  come  nearest  the  truth  of  one. 

He  that  wrestles  with  us  strengthens  our  nerves  and  sharpens 
our  skill.  Our  antagonist  is  our  helper. 

The  artist  may  secede   from   his   age   and  elevate  himself 
above  it. 

He  who  once  enters  at  a  tyrant's  door, 
Becomes  a  slave  though  he  were  free  before. 


108  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

A  temporary  smart  quickens  the  energies,  a  continued  agony 
crushes  them. 

The  wounded  Mars  cries  for  pain  as  loud  as  ten  thousand 
men.  and  Venus  scathed  by  a  lance  mounts  weeping  to  Olympus, 
and  forswears  all  fights. 

Pain  is  not  art,  but  feeling.  Art  is  progressive.  It  must 
be  blended  with  amusement,  and  yet  look  beyond  it. 

Intellectual  sympathy  must  be  without  effort. 

Genuineness  in  art  is  not  imitation  but  impulsive  genius  ;  it 
has  the  same  characteristics  as  nature ;  formally  but  not  ma- 
terially. The  ultimate  end  is  beauty  ;  not  philosophy  merely, 
but  both. 

The  best  actors  are  the  most  natural,  and  the  least  the- 
atrical. 

By  hearing  what  is  bad  in  acting,  one  is  penetrated  with  a 
hatred  for  the  bad,  which  gives  the  clearest  insight  for  the  good. 
The  ear  and  voice  make  the  elocutionist  and  actor. 

Art  is  a  created  as  well  as  a  creative  power,  and  under  either 
aspect  constitutes  perfect  organism. 

The  study  of  details  is  the  foundation  upon  which  rest  all 
great  achievements.  All  artists  are  bound  by  what  seems  the 
insignificant.  But  development  comes  step  by  step,  patient  and 
persevering. 

An  artistic  temperament  may  be  susceptible  and  skilled  in 
the  fine  arts,  and  yet  be  deficient  in  science.  Then  there  are 
those  who  combine  taste  and  executive  power. 

One  must  hold  his  art  in  an  easy,  disengaged  way  ;  so  that 
when  laid  aside,  the  one  so  accomplished  gives  no  hint  of  it. 

A  colossal  statue  is  only  a  representation  on  a  large  scale, 
not  necessarily  an  exaggeration. 

Preserving  the  health  by  too  strict  a  regimen  is  a  wearisome 
malady. 

Shakespeare  leaves  nothing  for  the  actor  but  to  comprehend 
him  ;  but  he  has  given  him  sufficient  work. 

ORDER. — Repetition  is  Consonance — Alteration  is  Contrast 
— Symmetry  is  Radiation — Progression  is  Gradation — Confu- 
sion is  Complication. 

In  all  objects  in  nature  there  is  something  predominant  and 


TASTK.  109 

which  alone  has  struck  the  observation  of  every  one.  If  the 
artist  gives  that,  he  brings  out  his  object  at  once. 

Such  is  the  perfect  harmony  that  exists  between  the  sensi- 
tive and  intellectual  faculties,  that  whatever  displeases  the  one 
cannot  please  the  other.  Language,  therefore,  which  is  not 
musical  to  the  ear,  cannot  be  rendered  agreeable  to  the  under- 
standing by  any  effort  of  genius. 

Every  false  or  weak  man  that  is  allowed  to  come  forward 
crowds  out  a  true  one. 

The  nerve  that  can  surmount  popular  prejudice  is  of  gen- 
uine stuff. 

It  should  not  be  diversity  without  unity,  nor  unity  without 
diversity,  but  unity  and  diversity  combined,  like  rays  from 
the  sun. 

Mere  physical  effort  is  like  rocks,  trees,  the  earth. 

Mere  vocal  effort  is  like  gases,  oxygen,  hydrogen,  nitrogen. 

Mere  mental  effort  is  like  electricity,  light,  magnetism. 

But  all  of  these  combined  with  spiritual  effort  or  psychic 
force  make  the  great  artist. 

Two  true  poems  are  enough  to  make  the  fame  of  a  poet. 

Dwarfs  creep  into  their  holes  as  soon  as  the  truth  looks  them 
steadfastly  in  the  eyes. 

It  is  praiseworthy  to  preserve  art  pure  from  error  instead  of 
dragging  it  down  to  base  purposes. 

As  flint  sand  on  a  plate  of  glass  forms  geometric  figures  un- 
der influence  of  musical  vibrations,  or  a  violin  upon  the  wall, 
"in  tune"  with  another  played  upon,  emits  the  same  notes  and 
both  make  fuller,  richer  music,  so  minds  and  souls  attuned,  re- 
spond to  and  re-act  upon  the  soulful  artist. 

TASTE. 

TASTE  belongs  only  to  those  who  possess  that  exquisite  dis- 
crimination which  distinguishes,  in  all  the  works  of  nature, 
whatever  qualities  are  most  pleasing  and  agreeable  to  man. 

Those  who  have  the  greatest  natural  sensibility,  have  ulti- 
mately the  most  correct  ideas  of  natural  beauty,  the  most  re- 
fined and  elegant  taste  if  they  will  but  cultivate  it. 


110  ACTJXG    AXD    (JL'ATOHY. 

Compared  to  the  pleasing  and  agreeable  tumult  spread  over 
a  man's  nature  in  his  indiscriminate  inexperience,  the  chaste, 
manly  and  elevated  feelings  which  a  man  experiences  after  his 
taste  is  formed  is  not  unlike  the  difference  of  the  richness  and 
luxuriance  of  Autumn  compared  to  the  enchanting  loveliness  of 
Spring. 

Where  exquisite  sensibility  exists  without  cultivation,  false 
perceptions  may  be  imbibed.  Taste  is  inherent,  but  needs  cul- 
ture to  develop  it. 

The  man  of  grosser  feelings  cannot  be  moved  by  influences 
of  beauty  ;  but  he  whose  sensations  are  exquisitely  attuned  to 
all  the  harmonies  of  nature,  yields  to  the  slightest  influence, 
and  can  discern  qualities  invisible  to  others,  and  is  therefore 
better  qualified  to  judge.  The  best  taste  differs  from  the  worst 
only  through  understanding. 

Our  senses  can  never  become  the  source  of  unhappiness  to 
us  from  their  extreme  delicacy,  nor  is  extreme  sensibility  hurt- 
ful to  taste,  as  some  imagine,  through  their  affection. 

Mere  exquisite  delicacy  of  feeling,  to  be  easily  affected  by 
joy  or  sorrow,  does  not  qualify  one  to  be  a  judge  in  matters  of 
taste  ;  does  not  supply  the  absence  of  knowledge,  unless  perhaps 
gifted  by  inspiration. 

Cultivation  would  temper  their  exquisite  poignancy  and 
natural  delicacy  and  give  them  rational  habits  of  thinking  and 
of  acting  ;  and  place  them  on  that  proud  eminence  whence 
they  could  view  with  indifference  those  trifles  which  formerly 
moved  them.  Such  go  beyond  all  bounds  and  are  tumid  and 
exaggerated  in  style,  with  the  unmeaning  rapture  of  a  rhap- 
sodist,  who,  without  understanding  the  principles  of  art, 
fumes  like  a  madman,  and  transports  himself,  and  astonishes 
those  who  hear  him.  But  the  more  bountiful  nature  has  been, 
in  the  faculty  of  feeling,  the  more  capable  can  become  the 
judgment. 

Taste  is  the  exercise  of  such  a  faculty  rather  than  a  faculty 
of  itself.  It  is  the  acquired  power  of  discrimination  of  beauty. 
Genius  is  a  mere  faculty  that  enables  one  to  become  great  and 
learned  if  he  will,  or  if  circumstances  permit  him  to  cultivate 
and  improve  his  powers. 


TASTE.  Ill 

How  many  instances  are  there  of  men  who  never  evidenced 
genius,  from  reason  of  iron  circumstance,  who  afterwards,  when 
a  change  of  life  brought  new  feelings,  arose  to  greatness.  All 
being  the  result  of  that  quick  perception  of  the  slightest  im- 
pulse, which  is  the  parent  of  sensibility  and  imagination. 

He  who  is  destitute  of  sensibility  and  imagination  can  never 
hope  to  aspire ;  for  of  these  is  the  basis  on  which  genius  rears 
her  colossean  form. 

A  man  of  talent  differs  from  a  man  of  genius  only  in  not 
feeling  so  exquisitely,  and  not  perceiving  so  distinctly.  What- 
ever, then,  can  sharpen  the  feelings  of  a  man  of  talent,  and  make 
him  as  susceptible  of  every  impulse  must  give  him  equal  power. 
It  is  the  continual  bending  and  twisting  of  all  the  organs  which 
gives  ease,  elegance  and  refinement  to  mind  and  body. 

A  healthy  and  cultivated  state  of  rnind  instinctively  derives 
pleasure  from  whatever  things  are  illustrative  of  nature.  On 
these  primary  principles  education  and  accident  operate  to  an 
unlimited  extent.  It  is  either  acute  and  faultless  ;  or,  erratic 
and  diseased.  By  aversion  and  desire,  by  constant  obedience 
to  these  natural  laws  and  deriving  pleasure  from  sources  in- 
tended to  give  pleasure,  one  acquires  taste.  Little  pleasure,, 
evinces  a  lack  of  taste.  Pleasure  from  other  sources  is  fitlse  taste, 

It  is  the  moral  interwoven  with  the  intellectual ;  and  much 
of  the  pleasure  depends  on  delicate  and  untraceable  perceptions 
of  fitness,  propriety  and  relation.  Yet  one  cannot  give  a  distinct 
reason  why.  It  gratifies,  fills,  hallows,  and  exalts  his  mind,  but 
how  he  cannot  tell. 

No  man  of  taste  is  taken  in  by  names,  for  ugliness  does  not 
become  beauty  by  the  addition  of  a  lie. 

There  are  many  artificers  who  boast  themselves  artists  ;  they 
pass  current  in  virtue  of  prodigious  self-assertion:  But  they 
create  nothing.  Appreciation  is  of  slow  growth.  Art  demands 
a  nice  discipline  of  the  senses  even  to  learri  its  alphabet.  To 
pass  beyond  vague  sensation  the  physical  organs  must  be  trained. 
Art  discloses  the  soul  of  the  artist  and  listener,,  and  expands 
both  if  they  but  consent.  Our  instincts  may  be  radically  good, 
but  taste  is  the  result  of  the  culture  of  the  aesthetic  faculties. 
Intellect  rises  to  the  dignity  of  a  judge  only  by  severe  study. 


11  xj       .  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

Taste  is  a  subject  on  which  it  might  naturally  be  supposed 
that  all  mankind  would  naturally  agree,  but  this  is  far  from 
being  the  case.  Fashion  seems  at  times  to  control  it,  but  the 
pure  and  faultless  is  always  recognized  even  by  those  who  ob- 
stinately follow  the  false.  It  must' be  reality  alone. 

Reflection  and  Intuition. 

The  reflection  does  not  create  anything  ;  does  not  produce, 
hut  labors  on  the  materials  furnished  by  the  intuition.  Its 
power  is  exercised  on  the  form,  not  on  the  matter  of  the  thought. 
To  know,  is  to  think  of  some  object,  and  to  know  that  we  think 
of  it.  Without  the  last  element  knowledge  would  be  only 
initial,  incomplete. 

The  intuition  is  not  susceptible  of  perfection  or  deteriora- 
tion. The  reflection  is  progressive  ;  it  depends  on  the  power 
of  the  soul,  which  depends  on  the  organization,  and  varies 
with  it. 

The  intuition  is  necessary  and  fatal;  the  reflection  free.  The 
intuition  is  confused,  the  reflection  distinct.  The  reflection 
cannot  find  any  new  element  of  knowledge  which  is  not  in  the 
intuition  ;  its  object  is  to  render  clear  and  distinct  the  intuitive 
knowledge  ;  the  latter  contains  the  germ  of  everything  that  wo 
may  know ;  the  former  develops  that  germ,  and  produces,  by 
that  elaboration,  the  prodigious  variety  of  knowledge  which 
distinguishes  the  different  ages  of  the  same  man,  or  different 
men  among  themselves. 

The  intuition  seizes  immediately  its  object,  without  the  in- 
termedia of  any  sign  ;  whereas  the  reflection  being  the  thought 
of  the  thought,  it  cannot  exercise  itself  without  a  sensible  sign, 
without  a  word  to  translate  the  intuitive  thought. 

We  may  seem  to  differ  in  reasoning  but  there  is  a  standard 
of  taste.  Delicate,  aerial,  too  volatile  to  endure  even  the  chains 
of  definition  seemingly,  but  yet  fixed.  This  arises  from  lack  of 
knowledge  in  art,  and  inexperience.  Critical  taste  comes  not 
from  superior  principle,  but  knowledge  ;  not  casual,  but  cer- 
tain, natural,  uniform  principles.  Some  have  blunt  feelings, 
and  consequently  little  taste.  Business  dulls  imagination  by 


REFLECTION  AND  INTUITION.  113 

preventing  its  delicate  and  refined  play.  The  cause  of  wrong 
taste  is  defective  judgment.  This  comes  from  weak  under- 
standing or  want  of  exercise  to  make  it  strong. 

The  end  of  art  is  expression.  Genius,  the  name  we  com- 
monly give  to  the  artistic  nature,  is  the  nature  which  not  only 
feels  more  intensely  and  thrillingly  than  others  impressions  and 
sentiments,  but  which  is  able  to  awaken  them  in  others. 
Endowed  with  senses  so  exquisite  that  they  tremble  like  the 
strings  of  an  JEolian  harp  in  the  mere  atmosphere  of  beauty, 
with  an  intellect  so  keen  that  it  discerns  the  primal  harmonies 
in  the  mere  show  of  things,  with  a  love  so  sympathetic  and  uni- 
versal that  nothing  in  life  is  alien  to  it,  genius  has  the  further 
faculty  of  unfolding  all  these  in  a  consentaneous  whole.  The 
sights,  the  sounds,  the  proportions,  the  characters  which  fill  it 
with  delight  it  reproduces  in  shapes  that  rekindle  that  delight. 
All  the  deepest  feelings,  the  largest  thoughts,  the  subtlest 
fancies,  the  playfulest  conceits,  the  sweetest  affections,  the  most 
terrible  rages  and  agonies  of  which  human  nature  is  capable, 
come  to  it  as  art.  It  has  a  method  that  cannot  be  explained. 
It  comes  from  our  inner  being — ourself — the  solitude  of  self, 
which  no  eye  has  ever  pierced.  Spirit  cannot  continue  with 
spirit  nor  soul  grasp  soul,  save  as  they  open  the  primal  and 
colorless  abyss. 

A  note  on  the  organ,  on  its  material  side,  is  a  pulsation  of 
air  ;  on  its  spiritual  side,  is  a  sigh,  a  wail,  a  moan,  or  a  throb  of 
divine  joy. 

The  pleasure  peculiar  to  art  is  integral  or  complete,  one  that 
involves  the  whole  man,  his  senses,  intellect,  emotions  and 
moral  judgment.  It  is  a  combination  in  which  the  titillations 
of  sense,  the  swell  of  emotion,  the  keen  approval  of  the  under- 
standing, the  subtle  relish  of  fancy,  the  calm  satisfaction  of 
reason,  the  rapture  and  glow  of  passion,  are  fused  into  one  con- 
current wave  of  delight.  Really  great  works  of  art  address  us 
simultaneously  through  every  pore  and  inlet  of  feeling.  Some 
are  more  sensuous,  some  more  intellectual,  some  more  emo- 
tional or  spiritual ;  but  they  all  arouse  the  sense,  the  intellect, 
the  imagination,  the  heart.  When  they  fail  in  this,  they  are  to 
that  extent  imperfect  or  spurious.  On  the  contrary  when  really 


114  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

great,  it  is  difficult  to  separate  the  predominating  quality  from 
the  general  fulness  of  delight  excited.  All  is  so  compact  and 
superlative  in  excellence,  so  luscious  in  sensuous  beauty,  so  ad- 
mirable in  their  intellectual  proportions,  so  exalted  in  sentiment, 
so  absolute  in  moral  weight,  and  withal  so  suggestive  of  a 
spiritual  mystery  that  runs  up  into  the  infinite. 

Art — ^Esthetic. 

What  is  the  use  of  art  ?  What  is  the  use  of  the  flower,  of  a 
perfume,  of  a  glorious  sunset,  of  the  light  and  shade  of  a  distant 
mountain  ?  God  might  have  made  the  world  blank  and  grey ; 
but  how  then  would  the  spirit  be  fed  ?  But  there  is  no  heart 
so  dead  that  it  does  not  sometimes  thrill,  no  soul  so  arid  that 
tears  do  not  sometimes  come  to  the  eyes.  Art  requires  the 
severest  training  of  work — work  which  is  the  demigod  of  this 
world.  Art  is  a  jealous  mistress.  She  gives  her  votary  black 
days,  and  to  win  her  favors  one  must  strain  his  powers  to  the 
utmost.  Michael  Angelo,  in  his  old  age,  after  having  for  seventy 
years  never  been  faithless  to  art,  drew  the  figure  of  an  old  man 
in  a  child's  cart,  and  on  this  he  put  the  legend  :  "I  am  still 
learning."  He  knew  that  art  is  inexhaustible. 

The  true  artist  must  ever  feel  his  shortcomings.  Even  if  he 
succeeds,  success  is  a  relative  term.  It  is  not  the  victory,  but 
the  battle  that  delights.  To  have  finished  is  always  a  disap- 
pointment. 

The  beginning  of  art  is  easy.  There  is  little  difficulty  in 
achieving  results  not  altogether  bad.  But  as  the  artist  ad- 
vances, the  horizon  becomes  larger  at  every  step,  and  high  suc- 
cess seems  constantly  further  from  his  reach.  It  is  hard  to  keep 
up  that  sustained  enthusiasm  which  alone  holds  the  keys  to 
success. 

No  man  ever  did  his  best,  without  putting  into  his  work  all 
there  was  in  him.  Again,  nothing  is  so  dangerous  as  facility. 
Early  facility  is  often  mistaken  for  genius,  but  it  generally  ends 
in  mediocrity.  Indomitable  will  constitutes  four-fifths  of  genius. 
Michael  Angelo  had  not  the  natural  facility  of  Kaphael,  but  he 
climbed  to  higher  places  by  his  unconquerable  determination. 

If  no  taste,  you  cannot  force  what  has  no  roots.     The  vulgar 


ORDER — EMOTION.  115 

mind  cannot  enjoy  delicacy.  You  should  help  elevate  public 
taste,  and  the  people  will  acquire  a  love  for  the  beautiful.  No 
art  can  advance  unless  understood  and  appreciated.  The  un- 
cultivated taste  is  gratified  by  broad  and  dazzling  effects  so  dis- 
tasteful to  the  cultivated,  which  in  its  refinement  relishes  the 
subdued  and  mellow  and  that  excites  a  dreamy  pleasure.  Cor- 
rect expression  is  the  highest  attainment.  It  adds  completion 
to  the  work  and  demands  greater  abilities.  Every  passion  is  an 
expression,  but  every  expression  is  not  a  passion.  Joy  of  the 
sanguine  is  not  joy  of  the  phlegmatic. 

Order — Emotion. 

Order  is  the  first  step  toward  beauty  ;  is  the  first,  simplest 
product  of  taste.  But  this  is  the  result  of  thought.  It  is  mere 
form  imposed  by  utility.  It  needs  the  combination  of  feeling 
and  the  mind  taking  delight  in  the  work.  It  is  not  complete 
until  thoroughly  emotional,  and  in  its  scope  betrays  a  mind 
alike  active  and  earnest.  It  must  be  beyond  the  mere  routine 
of  labor ;  it  must  unite  the  skillful,  or  affectionate,  or  grand. 
It  is  labor  performed  with  infinite  love  and  faithfulness.  It  is 
a  perfect  finish  and  relation  of  parts  united  in  one  whole,  by 
slow  gradations,  with  a  thousand  steps  of  varied  progress  to  the 
highest  possible  condition. 

In  each  advance  there  is  more  expression,  because  more  per- 
fect labor.  Calm,  intellectual  apprehension  does  not  exhaust  or 
destroy.  Such  perception  is  additional  incentive  to  high  attain- 
ment. It  is  the  thirst  of  spirit  for  that  which  is  beyond, 
above  ;  for  that  which  it  knows  it  can  grasp  and  enjoy.  Men 
breathe  desire  through  intellectual  effort  and  fire  with  the  zeal 
of  pursuit. 

Nobility,  magnanimity,  the  symmetry  and  proportion  of 
robust,  healthy  virtue,  can  hardly  be  reached  without  a  large 
infusion  of  this  gesthetic  insight  which  delicately  and  completely 
discerns  the  formal,  as  well  as  the  intrinsic  bearing. 

Sensibility,  when  highly  cultivated,  is  quickly  and  deeply 
affected  with  pleasure  or  pain,  by  exhibitions  of  the  beauties 
and  deformities  of  nature  and  art,  and  of  right  and  wrong. 


116  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

A  susceptible  soul  easily  vibrates  at  the  touch  of  emotion.  While 
attempting  to  cultivate  this  power  for  acting  and  oratory, 
hardly  anything  is  more  blighting  to  genuine  sensibility  than 
to  assume  its  tones  and  badge,  where  it  does  not  exist.  The 
heart  must  prompt  emotion,  and  everything  be  simple,  ingenu- 
ous, true  to  soul,  and  in  tones  of  truth  and  nature. 

The  sensibilities  are  the  peculiar  domain  of  the  fine  arts ; 
and  by  a  transcendent  preeminence,  of  the  greatest  poetry  ;  and 
if  by  a  premature  analysis  the  sensibilities  are  not  allowed  their 
requisite  play,  the  leading  purpose  of  a  work  of  the  imagination 
is  defeated. 

Every  true  poem  is  a  piece  of  articulate  music  which  requires 
long  practice  to  play  it  spontaneously  and  unconsciously.  The 
highest  truths  are  uttered  under  t"he  influence  of  genuine  im- 
agination, and  the  only  instructor  is  the  artist ;  one  wrought 
up  to  the  intensest  life,  acting  from  the  full  force  of  his  being. 

Man  intellectually  great,  without  sensibility,  that  has  never 
dreamed,  or  had  his  soul  filled  with  luxurious  sadness,  or  never 
experienced  a  wild  and  strange  delight  in  desolation,  or  had 
divine  and  rapturous  joys  through  music,  or  stood  rapt  before  a 
figure  of  ideal  loveliness,  is  a  very  one-sided  creature.  But,  an 
unintellectual  person,  if  emotional,  is  not  as  one-sided. 

Allied  to  sensibility  is  delicacy,  that  constant  attention  to 
small,  and  often  indescribable  things, which  is  quite  removed  from 
fastidiousness.  It  regards  every  suggestion  of  true  elegance, 
but  extends  its  influence  far  beyond  them,  to  a  point  which  the 
most  explicit  rules  cannot  reach.  It  is  seldom  found  in  other 
than  generous  and  capacious  souls.  It  is  not  the  mark  as  is 
supposed,  of  a  narrow  and  trifling  spirit.  And  he  who  lacks 
the  nice  perceptions  requisite  to  examine  details,  cannot  form 
an  accurate  judgment.  It  is  a  characteristic  of  great  minds 
that  they  readily  perceive  those  small,  yet  Important  facts,  which 
common  minds  are  slow  to  observe.  It  is  contraction  as  well  as 
dilation  of  mind. 

Greatness  is  only  rightly  estimated  when  minuteness  is  justly 
reverenced.  It  is  the  aggregation  of  minuteness.  Its  sublimity 
is  not  truthfully  felt  by  a  mind  unaccustomed  to  affectionate 
watching  of  what  is  least.  Yet  it  should  be  a  regard  for  noth- 


ORDER — EMOTION.  117 

ing  shallow  or  pretty.  Mere  cleverness,  or  a  special  gift,  never 
made  an  artist.  It  is  perfectness  of  mind,  unity,  depth,  decis- 
ion, and  the  highest  qualities,  which  form  imagination.  The 
false  at  heart  may  seize  a  stray  truth  here  and  there,  but  the 
relations — its  wholeness — it  never  can  perceive.  It  is  rather  a 
constant  desire  and  submission  to  truth,  humble  and  helpful. 

In  order  to  properly  apprehend  and  appreciate  high  art,  it 
is  necessary  first  to  engender  a  severe  taste.  The  pupil  must  be 
disciplined  by  a  high  theory  to  have  an  indifference  towards 
second-rate  art,  and  a  positive  disrelish  for  those  more  showy 
qualities  that  are  only  for  a  day,  and  not  for  all  time.  He  must 
acquire  such  an  intellectual  temper,  such  a  tone  of  culture,  as 
can  find  pleasure  only  in  those  grander  and  loftier  efforts  which 
do  not  so  much  strike  and  startle  by  brilliancy,  as  stir  the  soul 
by  depth  and  power.  Taste  will  not  combine  with  the  imagina- 
tion if  it  works  separately  from  the  other  faculties  of  the  soul. 

Minds  untrained  are  taken  captive  by  dazzling  and  superfi- 
cial efforts,  and  such  become  copyists  and  mannerists,  whicii 
never  are.  and  never  can  be  eloquent.  But  a  pure  taste,  and  a 
genuine  relish  for  great  excellencies,  is  an  excellent  preservative 
against  this  pernicious  influence.  There  is  a  strength  and  re- 
serve in  intellect  formed  by  high  theories,  and  contemplation 
of  grand  ideals  which  no  storm  of  popularity  or  fashion  can 
overcome.  Such  a  mind  is  self-possessed,  self-reliant,  eagle- 
eyed  and  critical,  and  calmly  stands  the  glare,  while  the  weak 
and  uneducated  is  dazzled  and  blinks.  This  austere  judgment, 
this  clear,  calm  criticism  looks  beyond  gaudy  products  that 
temporarily  bewitch  the  popular  taste>  to  those  serene,  grand, 
and  absolutely  beautiful  forms,  and  upon  them  alone  expends  its 
enthusiasm. 

Human  nature  is  hypercritical.  Its  tendency  is  to  the  form 
rather  than  the  substance  ;  to  show  than  reality. 

Unreality  in  art  is  inconsistent  and  may  be  compared  to 
Indian  idols.  Reality  to  Grecian  statues. 

A  spirit  of  egotism,  a  dim  and  narrow  individuality,  is  a 
hindrance  to  a  large  and  clear  intelligence  of  life.  Few  give 
their  faculties  expansion,  or  conceive  of  existence  in  its  ampli- 
tude, but  criticise  life  from  their  horizon.  The  passions  which 


118  ACTING  AXD    ORATORY. 

egotism  stimulates  are  those  which  confuse  the  intellecc  and  dis- 
turb the  heart  most.  Not  through  narrow  dogmatism  but  only 
through  sympathy  can  we  understand  life  and  man.  And  we 
all  have  the  elements  of  the  worst  as  well  as  the  best  of  hu- 
manity. It  is  easy  to  admire  the  brave  and  god-like  but  wo 
ought  to  be  moved  with  a  touch  of  brotherhood  with  the  basest 
and  not  be  insensible  to  the  misery  near  us. 

Some  emotions  may  be  so  subtile  that  we  cannot  analyze, 
we  cannot  define,  but  we  feel  them.  They  may  evade  logic  and 
defy  statement,  but  they  are  not  the  less  absolute. 

It  is  to  fill  the  spirit,  as  well  as  impress  the  senses  and  the 
mind.  It  is  not  merely  triumph  of  excitement,  but  victory  of 
soul.  Declamation  which  deals  in  extremes  is  as  empty  as  the 
wind,  and  yet  a  single  touch  can  open  the  heart  and  enlarge  it 
to  conception  of  enormous  woe,  strength  or  grandeur. 

Smallness  tortures  ;  size  enriches.  There  is  music  in  the 
thunder  ;  in  such  feaY  there  is  joyousness,  a  sense  of  majesty. 
Wild  grief  appalls  but  is  awful  in  beauty.  The  ocean-sized 
musings  of  Macbeth. 

Camoens  carried  the  poetic  art  in  the  Portuguese  language 
to  the  highest  perfection.  Such  grace,  deep  feeling,  childlike 
tenderness  and  sweet  earnestness  of  emotion,  with  the  saddest 
and  most  desolating  melancholy,  simply  expressed,  yet  with 
such  purity  and  pathos.  Their  beauty  of  diction  could  scarcely 
be  more  perfect  or  their  glowing  bloom  more  vivid.  Such 
should  be  acting  at  times. 

Studious  intellect  and  impassioned  sentiment,  guided  by 
truth  and  taste,  in  dramatic  art  gives  moderating  restraint,  puts 
the  calm  girdle  of  beauty  about  the  throbbing  loins  of  power. 
Imagination  cannot  create,  but  it  can  idealize,  order  and  unify, 
unravel  the  tangled  snarl  of  details,  and  wind  the  intricacies  in 
one  unbroken  thread,  making  nature  more  natural  by  abstrac- 
tion of  the  accidental  and  arrangement  of  the  essential. 

Expression. — An  indispensable  condition  of  aesthetic  appre- 
ciation of  high  poetry  is,  that  it  receive  an  adequate  expression. 
That  indefiniteness  which  attaches  itself  to  all  the  productions 
of  the  imagination  can  alone  be  fully  appreciated  when  acted 


IMA  GIN  A  TION.  119 

and  vocalized.  Without  such  aids  all  the  charms  and  subtle 
effects  which  are  beyond  the  reach  of  analysis  must  be  lost  in  a 
great  measure,  to  silent  readers.  A  reader  can  study  silently 
and  imagine  the  elocution. 

The  fullest  appreciation  of  a  poem,  and  the  most  searching 
sense  of  all  its  subtlest  elements  of  effect,  are  totally  inadequate  to 
a  proper  vocal  expression  of  it,  where  the  organs  of  speech  are  not 
in  perfect  obedience  to  the  will  and  feelings.  This  obedience 
can  only  be  secured  by  long  and  careful  culture.  The  conscious 
observance  of  principles  and  rules  must  become  unconscious 
and  spontaneous.  No  degree  of  imagination  and  feeling  will 
render  the  organs  of  speech  flexible  without  special  culture. 
An  education  of  the  voice  is  a  removal  of  the  shackles  of  bad 
artificial  habits.  It  is  a  development  of  the  natural  powers. 

The  art  of  manners  precisely  fitted  to  the  character  and 
rank  of  the  person  is  the  study  of  the  theatre.  In  such  the 
gentry  carefully  ape  royalty,  the  mechanic  painfully  apes  the 
gentleman.  The  bearing  of  the  first  is  composed,  easy,  digni- 
fied ;  the  second  a  lowered  copy  with  curious  differences ;  the 
third  a  travesty.  The  king,  disguised,  sits  down  at  a  table 
with  a  plebeian.  The  king  eats  and  drinks  slowly,  quietly,  with 
a  silent  refinement  in  every  motion  ;  the  plebeian  is  hurried, 
flustered,  confused.  The  true  actor,  who  is  master  of  his  whole 
business,  teaches  in  a  thousand  indescribably  subtle  ways,  a 
thousand  indescribably  valuable  lessons  for  all  who  have  eyes  to 
see,  and  intelligence  to  interpret  what  they  see.  The  stage 
illustrates  a  cheap  way  to  wealth  of  consciousness. 

IMAGINATION. 

THE  means  of  cultivating  this  precious  faculty  is  to  speak  of 
things  just  as  if  we  saw  or  had  seen  them,  all  governed  by  good 
^aste,  wisely,  not  too  lavishly,  simple,  and  apparently  not  atten- 
tive to  the  manner.  You  must  have  all  properly  sustained,  not 
too  prolonged,  and  not  too  brief  and  undeveloped  in  all  its  bear- 
ings and  energy,  yet  remembering  the  stronger  the  emotion  the 
more  brief  should  be  the  expression.  Wring  it  out  and  make  it 


120  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

true  ;  especially  should  this  be  the  case  with  pathos,  which  if 
not  successful,  is  sure  to  be  ridiculous.  These  things  cannot  be 
imitated  ;  all  great  masters  create  what  is  certain  and  imagina- 
tive for  themselves  ;  it  lies  between  the  practical  and  the  ab- 
stract. It  is  not  either,  necessarily,  finished  ;  but  like  a  spirited 
sketch,  it  should  have  the  main  intention,  with  skill,  taste,  and 
dexterity  ;  for  the  imagination  can  overlook  or  supply  the  rest. 

This  is  far  from  imitation,  which  only  brings  realities  to 
mind  that  are  not  mistaken  for  the  ideal,  which  is  art.  In  the 
cultivation  of  the  imagination  one  should  be  familiar  with  all 
that  is  awfully  vast,  or  elegantly  little  ;  omitting  at  last,  all  that 
is  unessential,  and  only  developing  what  is  ennobling,  the  mind 
being  too  active  and  capacious  to  be  satisfied  with  the  mere 
practical.  The  true  artist  often  feels  how  far  short  of  his  ideal 
his  best  performances  fall. 

Greatness  inhabits  a  higher  sphere  of  thought,  into  which 
other  men  rise  with  difficulty  ;  he  opens  his  eyes  and  sees  tilings 
in  a  true  light,  and  in  large  relations.  He  is  great  from  nature. 
He  has  the  planet ;  the  adventurer,  after  years,  lias  nothing 
but  his  shoes. 

He  who  cannot  form  a  conception  of  high  excellence  will 
remain  only  an  imitator,  but  the  power  of  imagination  can  be 
increased  by  exercise,  and  the  mind  also  grows  by  intimate  com- 
munion with  superior  minds,  such  as  Milton  and  Shakespeare. 
It  weakens  again  by  association  with  feeble  ones.  Biography 
and  history  also  enable  us  to  form  models  of  excellence,  where- 
on by  meditating  of  their  good  qualities,  we  improve  ourselves. 
We  must  not  only  read  the  sublime  and  beautiful,  but  meditate 
on  all,  until  we/eeZ,  and  enter  into  its  spirit.  It  is  by  diligent 
study,  and  not  by  mere  reading,  that  we  derive  the  greatest 
benefit.  We  cognize  truth  in  the  concrete  not  in  the  abstract. 
We  arrive  at  general  by  individual  truths.  The  dramatist  has, 
perhaps,  power  to  communicate  truth  more  effectively  than  the 
philosopher,  for  imagination,  far  from  being  an  enemy  to  truth, 
brings  it  forward  more  than  any  other  faculty  of  the  mind. 

It  belongs  to  the  general  philosophical  theory  of  poetry,  and 
the  other  fine  arts,  to  establish  the  fundamental  laws  of  the 
beautiful  ;  and  every  art  has  its  own  special  theory,  designed 


IMAGINATION.  121 

to  teach  the  limits,  the  difficulties,  and  the  means,  by  which  it 
must  be  regulated  in  its  attempt  to  realize  those  laws.  For  this 
purpose  certain  scientific  investigations  are  indispensable. 

The  sense  of  the  beautiful  calls  art  into  existence.  Theory 
teaches  what  ought  to  be  accomplished  and  gives  light  to  con- 
ditions of  originality.  Internal  excellence  alone  is  decisive. 
External  alone  will  not  thrive.  Michael  Angelo  studied  the 
antique  but  yet  he  was  original.  What  is  borrowed  must  be 
born  again.  Genius  is  the  almost  unconscious  choice  of  the 
highest  degree  of  excellence.  Beauty  is  the  aim  of  sculpture, 
and  repose  is  the  most  advantageous  for  its  display. 

To  say  that  beauty  must  be  produced  by  rule  seems  a  contra- 
diction. Ideal  beauty  is  the  soul  of  art:  Beauty  of  art  is  not 
truth  of  nature.  The  charm  of  art  is  the  fiction  of  nature,  not 
the  reality.  Copy  is  its  repetition.  Ideal  beauty  is  the  myste- 
rious charm  by  which  to  captivate  the  senses.  Not  alone 
application  and  study,  and  power,  and  truth,  but  this  essential 
requisite.  This  is  not  attained  till  rules  are  so  mastered  as- 
to  conceal  all  evidence  of  labor. 

Nothing  comes  in  sleep  ;  so  do  not  depend  either  upon  in- 
spiration, or  pander  to  a  foreign  taste.  The  growth  and  energy 
of  the  mind  depends  greatly  upon  self-reliance.  It  should  be 
the  leading  direction  of  one's  own  spirit,  or  the  effort  will  be 
tame  and  ineffective. 

The  imagination  can  only  be  exercised  in  reviving  past 
images,  or  in  giving  them  new  modifications  of  its  own  ;  but 
the  matter  of  the  modifications  is  always  the  same.  It  has  no 
power  of  creating  except  by  suggestion  of  sensation. 

Notwithstanding  the  necessity  of  vigorous  exercise,  a  too 
steady  and  too  continuous  application  wears  and  exhausts  the 
power  of  the  imagination. 

The  fine  spirit  may  be  dulled,  its  perceptions  blunted  by  the 
heavy  external  pressure  of  daily  cares,  and  the  chilling,  mechan- 
ical routine  of  actual  life. 

Fancy  with  her  gushing  feelings,  her  sympathies,  is  an  ele- 
ment of  the  soul  ever  ready  to  vibrate  at  the  faintest  touch  and 
start  into  life.  Beyond  is  inborn  perception — the  mysterious 
depths  of  organism.  Innate,  but  when  thus  primarily  existing 


ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

in  the  soul,  the  feeling  awakens  and  unfolds  itself  at  the  sight 
of  beauty ;  but  must  be  contemplated  continually  to  perfect 
comprehension. 

One  must  call  up  before  the  mind  ideal  heroic  and  god-like 
forms  and  muse  for  hours  on  grandeur  and  majesty.  It  must 
be  with  a  deep,  spiritual  love-sense.  One  must  learn  to  seize  and 
depict  such  in  expressions  till  they  seem  like  such  starting  into 
life.  One  should  expand  the  mind  to  receive,  and  not  be  con- 
tent to  remain  like  a  narrow-necked  vessel  that  rejects  too  great 
a  stream  poured  on  it. 

When  the  imagination  has  been  too  much  indulged  in,  it  is 
a  struggle  to  descend  to  the  elements  of  imitation,  but  so  is  all 
duty.  It  is  infinitely  easier  to  indulge  in  evil  propensities  than 
to  exert  the  opposite,  because  the  same  chance  is  never  given  to 
resistance  as  to  gratification.  If  a  man  is  ignorant  of  anything 
he  ought  never  to  be  ashamed  to  study  even  by  means  of  labo- 
rious imitation.  If  a  man  is  not  willing  to  descend  that  he  may 
rise,  he  plunges  at  once  to  the  highest  effort  and  his  deficiency 
of  elementary  knowledge  harasses  him  all  his  life.  Sometimes 
it  is  an  effort,  with  a  fancy  bordering  on  frenzy,  to  become  a 
child  ;  it  is  struggle  of  philosophy,  a  mortification  of  pride,  a 
humility  of  spirit,  and  an  acknowledgment  of  error.  Common 
sense,  however,  must  come  to  the  aid  of  such  as  would  become 
them,  and  teach  them  to  bear  the  suffering,  as  the  only  correct- 
ive to  error. 

To  the  outrageous,  nature  seems  tame,  and  her  simplicity  is 
an  evidence  of  their  extravagance,  and  they  shrink  from  her 
with  apprehension  ;  and  pride,  not  conviction,  defends  their 
exaggeration  ;  sophistry  and  helplessness  is  the  result.  With 
them  it  is  merely  invention — change — not  perfecting;  not 
dwelling  for  years  on  one  superb  thought  to  carry  it  to  its 
highest  excellence.  It  suits  them,  and  that  is  sufficient.  It 
should  be  essential,  settled  on  principles,  or  it  is  superficial, 
accidental,  vague.  It  cannot  be  fine  except  by  foresight. 

The  mere  language  in  high  art  is  abstractive.  To  clear  the 
accidental  from  the  essential  requires  perspicuity  of  the  reason- 
ing powers,  and  the  capacity  to  go  back  to  principles.  This  is 
the  language  of  the  epic,  and,  though  in  the  dramatic  and  his- 


IMA  GIN  A  TION.  123 

toric  the  greut  artist  descends  to  the  individual,  yet  even  here, 
knowing  the  essence  of  the  specific,  he  retains  only  the  abstract 
of  the  set  to  which  the  individual  belongs,  and  rejects,  with  a 
keen,  unerring  and  decided  conviction,  the  useless  and  super- 
abundant. 

Even  with  the  aid  of  elements  one  should  never  be  led  astray 
from  loyal  duty  to  high  art,  but  endeavor  upon  them  to  be 
great  in  his  own  way.  Simple  perception  alone,  of  the  sublime 
or  beautiful,  does  not  constitute  taste.  It  must  be  a  cultivated 
imagination  and  fancy  combined  with  thought. 

The  sensibility  of  the  mind  depends  for  its  degree,  upon  the 
vivacity  ;  for  its  extent,  upon  the  richness  of  the  imagination. 
An  overbalance,  a  preponderance  of  the  analytical  faculty  de- 
prives the  fancy  of  fire  and  power ;  and  a  limited  sphere  of 
objects,  of  its  richness.  To  calculatingly  analyze  the  impres- 
sions which  affect  the  soul  as  a  whole,  often  gives  a  cold  heart. 
The  business  man  has  a  narrow  heart  owing  to  his  uniform  rou- 
tine ;  his  imagination  is  inactive  and  unenlarged. 

The  imagination  accustomed  to  reflect  will  represent  without 
difficulty  all  that  is  most  impressive  and  beautiful  in  nature. 
It  is  only  by  reflection,  law,  analysis  and  synthesis  ;  for  nothing 
is  permitted  to  feeling  until  sanctioned  by  reason.  There  must 
be  no  haste,  or  shirking ;  it  must  be  by  deep  scrutiny,  study, 
meditation,  acute  observation,  even  to  minutiae  ;  yet  after  all 
retain  only  the  absolutely  needful,  and  even  when  in  absolute 
truth  of  detail,  still  at  the  same  time,  broad  and  masterly.  It 
must  be  intellectual  and  technical,  scrupulous  and  conscientious  ; 
not  impulse  or  chance  effort.  The  law  of  perfection  is  impera- 
tive labor.  The  imagination  as  the  highest  fundamental  prin- 
ciple, merely  determines  how  mechanical  skill  and  knowledge 
may  be  applied  ;  study  and  practice  determine  in  what  degree. 
The  end  is  the  development  of  the  ethical  impulse  itself.  It  is 
to  feel  and  utter  with  the  whole  soul.  But  with  this  ability, 
with  a  high  tone  of  the  animal  spirits,  and  a  quick  sensibility 
of  heart,  one  needs  the  aid  of  a  cultivated,  plastic  and  power- 
fully active  imagination. 

Right  ethics  are  central,  and  go  from  the  inward  outward. 
Education  is  the  unfolding;  the  aid  is  mechanical.  Gift  is 


124  ACTING  AXD    ORATORY. 

absolutely  contrary  to  the  law  of  nature.  The  great  artist  is 
slow  and  solicitous,  and  is  never  weary  of  adding  his  finishing 
touches. 

The  discoveries  of  ultimate  truth  are  instinctive,  rather  than 
philosophical ;  the  work  of  penetrative  imagination,  under  the 
influence  of  strong  affection. 

Imagination  is  the  source  of  histrionic  power.  Without  it 
all  acting,  however  skillful,  becomes  only  so  much  cold  calcula- 
tion ;  and  no  sublimity  in  the  most  elaborated  personations. 
Eloquence  is  the  thought  of  the  word.  The  elder  Booth  had 
the  most  imaginative  intellect  on  the  stage.  Fechter  has  a 
magnetic,  poetic  fancy.  It  must  come  deep  from  the  heart. 

By  stretching  the  mind  to  take  in  ideas  of  perfection,  it  will 
of  necessity  swell,  amplify,  and  become  elevated. 

In  grasping  at  infinity  there  is  no  end  to  the  expansion  and 
exaltation  of  the  mind. 

It  is  in  ideals  of  action  and  character,  which  are  always  dis- 
tinctly present  in  noble  minds,  that  the  most  constant  function 
of  the  imagination  is  seen.  It  is  through  a  conception  of  what 
is  more  desirable  in  "ends,  more  skillful  in  means,  more  wise  in 
action,  more  graceful  and  winning  in  method,  more  grand  in 
purpose,  more  beautiful  in  presentation.  It  runs  before  to 
guide  and  encourage.  To  be  destitute  of  it,  is  to  want  the  best 
motive  of  effort ;  is  to  lack  momentum — to  be  dead.  It  is  an 
essential  to  all  high  resolve  and  cheerful  effort. 

Its  strength,  aside  from  original  gift,  depends  on  exercise. 
Persons  characterized  by  uugoverned  action  of  this  faculty,  are 
visionary.  The  most  perfect  and  exclusive  training  of  it  is 
found  in  art.  Here  it  is  put  to  its  boldest,  yet  restrained  efforts. 
The  sense  of  the  beautiful  calls  it  forth  and  guides  it.  and  the 
combined  vigor  and  poise  of  its  action  yield  the  highest  works 
of  art.  The  energetic  exercise  of  our  intellectual  power  espe- 
cially elicits  this  faculty.  All  forms  of  expression  seek  its  lustre. 

When  the  imagination  rises  to  that  sphere  where  it  appears 
as  creative,  where  we  call  it  fancy,  and  in  its  spontaneity  poetic 
power,  it  is  here  that  the  wonders  of  the  intimate  blending  of 
mind  and  matter  are  brought  to  light.  Beneath  this  magic  cir- 
cle lies  the  material  world,  revealed  to  the  senses  j  above  it  the 


IMAGINATION.  125 

intellectual,  revealed  to  the  mind  ;  and  within  it,  the  dark, 
shadowy  world  of  conjecture. 

Fancy  harmonizing  all  the  higher  energies,  thought  and 
will,  with  sensation,  may  with  peculiar  propriety  be  called  the 
soul  of  life. 

Harmonizing  all  the  inferior  energies,  admiration  and  sensa- 
tion, with  thought,  is  the  budding  flower  of  the  sensual  organi- 
zation for  the  use  of  the  thinking  powers. 

She  is  the  nurse  of  the  intellect,  for  "  Every  one  is  mentally 
consumptive  whose  powers  of  imagination  are  weak,  for  fancy 
is  the  lungs  of  the  mind." 

In  her  operations,  images  previously  excited  and  preserved 
by  the  memory  stimulated  from  within  (subjective)  instead  of 
from  without  (objective),  are  contemplated,  and  in  the  higher 
degrees  of  this  operation,  are  propagated  by  innervation  to  the 
external  structures. 

Thus  the  processes  of  the  inmost  sanctuary  of  the  mind  agi- 
tated by  the  images  which  sweep  before  it,  come  to  the  surface, 
and  betray  themselves  in  the  look,  features,  and  attitude.  These 
organic  motions,  excited  by  lively  conceptions,  are  particularly 
observed  only  when  they  occur  in  a  higher  degree.  And  still 
more  noticeable  in  the  female  sex  whose  organization  on  the 
whole,  is  sensitive  rather  than  intellectual. 

The  mind,  however,  does  not  manifest  itself  in  direct  pro- 
portion to  the  body,  as  some  assume,  for  the  greatest  talents 
often  appear  in  the  weakest  bodies,  and  reversely  great  intellects 
are  often  found  in  the  most  vigorous  frames.  But  so  far  as  its 
action  depends  on  physical  conditions,  it  will  be  in  direct  pro- 
portion to  the  energy  of  cerebral  and  nervous  life.  Further, 
the  physical  reflex  functions  of  intellectual  life  will  be  most 
lively  in  sensitive  natures,  with  delicate  organism,  and  weakest 
in  its  opposite.  The  psychical  reflex  functions  of  corporeal  life, 
on  the  contrary,  will  be  strongest  where  the  material  predom- 
inates, whereas  the  intellect  is  least  developed  and  weakest 
where  reversed. 

Even  the  intellect  would  languish  were  it  not  for  fancy. 
Thought  presupposes  reproduction.  This  is  regulated  by  the 
ever  definite  character  of  conception.  We  presuppose  for  solid 


126  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

thinking  a  sufficiently  precise  determination  of  the  given  con- 
ception that  is  presented  to  the  intellect,  and  on  the  other  hand, 
richness  and  suitable  combination  of  that  which  is  to  be  repro- 
duced. This  is  mostly  founded  in  thought.  He  who  has  noth- 
ing in  store  will  produce  nothing  ;  he  whose  reproductions  are 
poor  betrays  poverty  of  intellect ;  he  whose  reproductions  are 
disorderly  will  think  confusedly. 

To  extra-sensual  susceptibility  and  capability  within  us  cor- 
responds the  extra-sensual  ideal  above  us,  the  divine  nature,  the 
true  (thought],  the  beautiful  (feeling},  and  the  good  (will). 

These  intellectual  feelings  are  very  delicate,  almost  imper- 
ceptible, not  weak,  in  their  sensible  effects,  because  the  opera- 
tions of  thought  are  only  indirectly  connected  with  the  organs 
on  their  material  side.  They  may,  however,  become  very  in- 
tense if  the  individual  be  of  an  intellectual  turn  of  mind. 

The  feelings  are  called  emotions,  when  through  violent  and 
sudden  excitement,  they  rise  to  such  a  degree  that  they  alone 
engage  the  action  of  the  nerves. 

Self-feeling  may  be  vehemently  affected  with  emotion  ;  cheer- 
fulness rising  to  rapture,  melancholy  sinking  to  despondency. 

Things  are  pretty,  graceful,  rich,  elegant,  handsome  ;  but, 
until  they  speak  to  the  imagination,  they  are  not  beautiful, 
which  is  the  sovereign  attribute.  This  is  why  beauty  is  still 
escaping  out  of  all  analysis.  It  is  not  yet  possessed,  it  cannot 
be  handled.  It  swims  on  the  light  of  forms.  It  is  properly, 
not  in  the  form,  but  in  the  mind.  It  instantly  deserts  posses- 
sion, and  flies  to  an  object  in  the  horizon. 

The  feat  of  the  imagination  is  in  showing  the  convertibility 
of  everything  into  every  other  thing.  Facts  which  had  never 
before  left  their  stark,  common  sense,  suddenly  figure  as  Eleu- 
sinian  mysteries.  Through  this  subtle  sense  every  word  can  be 
made  to  have  a  double,  triple  or  centuple  use  and  meaning. 

The  laws  of  this  translation  we  do  not  know,  or  why  one 
feature  or  gesture  enchants  ;  why  one  word  or  syllable  intoxi- 
cates, but  the  fact  is  familiar  that  the  fine  touch  of  the  eye,  or 
a  grace  of  manners,  or  a  phrase  of  poetry,  plants  wings  at  our 
shoulders.  There  are  no  days  in  life  so  memorable  as  those 
which  vibrate  to  some  stroke  of  the  imagination.  This  is  that 


BEAUTY.  IZ7 

haughty  force  of  beauty,  "vis  super  ba  for  mce,"  which  the  poets 
praise  —  under  calm  and  precise  outline,  the  immeasurable 
and  divine.  Beauty  hiding  all  wisdom  and  power  in  its  calm 

sky. 

BEAUTY. 

THE  true  artist  feels  at  each  step  a  new  sense  of  beauty 
dawn  upon  his  heart,  and  his  mind  awakens  to  higher  and 
more  glorious  ideas  of  art ;  while  its  costliest  treasures  are 
judged  by  a  better  standard. 

The  lofty  intention  of  art  can  only  be  fully  realized  when 
soul  and  sense,  the  lofty  spirituality  of  feeling  and  expression, 
and  the  more  earthly  beauty  are  kept  in  equipoise  ;  in  other 
words,  that  harmony  and  a  carefully  balanced  proportion  of 
nature  and  spirituality  form  the  perfection  of  art. 

Even  men  of  genius  have  been  beguiled  by  confining  them- 
selves to  one  particular  attribute  of  either  nature  or  spirituality, 
or  in  becoming  copyists.  True  art  consists  in  a  combination  of 
soul  and  sense. 

In  art  there  is  but  one  true  path.  Perfection  consists  in  the 
union  of  the  idea  and  vitality  ;  everything  that  breaks  this 
union — every  deficiency  on  either  side — is  a  fault,  and  if  further 
developed,  or  adopted  as  a  principle,  will  lead  to  mannerism. 
The  idea,  if  suffered  to  predominate,  produces  works  that  are 
cold  and  inanimate,  or,  at  least  in  some  measure,  deserve  the 
reproach  of  hardness.  The  attempt,  on  the  other  hand,  merely 
to  copy  nature  and  life,  may  in  cases  produce  strong  effects,  as 
many  of  the  naturalisti  have  done  ;  but,  with  the  loss  of  ideality 
is  famished  all  deep  meaning,  and  even  that  internal  character 
which  forms  a  most  essential  condition  of  art. 

The  true  object  of  art  should  be,  instead  of  resting  in  ex- 
ternals, to  lead  the  mind  upward  into  a  more  exalted  region  and 
a  spiritual  world  ;  while  false  and  mannered  artists,  content 
with  imitation,  soar  no  higher,  nor  even  seek  to  reach  that  lofty 
sphere  in  which  genuine  beauty  is  portrayed  according  to 
certain  defined  ideas  of  natural  characteristics.  They  limit 
themselves  to  the  most  vivid  development  of  sensible  form,  the 


128  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

fascination  of  grace,  endowed  with  sensual  attractions,  rather 
than  the  inspired  loneliness  of  the  soul. 

It  does  not  depend  upon  organization  alone  ;  a  person  may 
be  endowed  with  visual  organs  of  more  than  ordinary  acuteness, 
and  yet  no  perception  of  beauty  be  associated. 

This  faculty  of  eye  and  ear  to  perception,  and  to  the  spirit 
of  sound  and  delicate  magic,  lies  in  the  mysterious  depths  and 
special  qualities  of  the  soul  in  its  unseen  spiritual  life  ;  in  a 
combination  of  the  senses  and  imagination,  scarcely  explicable 
even  to  the  gifted  one. 

Even  genius  is  often  deficient  in  perception  of  beauty  in  the 
imitative  arts,  and  even  after  a  life  amid  its  themes  will  still 
remain  insensible  to  its  powers.  It  is  innate ;  but  when  pri- 
marily existing  in  the  soul,  the  feeling  unfolds,  and  continual 
contemplation  gives  the  more  perfect  comprehension. 

Beauty  exists  in  every  finely  strung  soul  as  a  necessity,  where 
demeanor  is  formed  not  by  imitation  of  lifeless  social  habits 
but  by  the  intrinsic  beauty  of  nature.  Mere  exercise  of  one's 
sense  of  beauty  is  superficial  observation  ;  nothing  is  gained  ; 
but  to  be  great,  one  must  penetrate  deeply,  accurately.  The  true 
will  have  study. 

Some  are  ever  bent  on  imitating,  or  counterfeiting  the  very 
qualities  in  which  they  are  the  most  deficient,  and  which  they 
have  the  least  power  to  attain,  and  are  perpetually  mistaking 
childishness  for  simplicity,  and  confounding  the  popular  with 
the  vulgar. 

No  art  can  break  entirely  loose  from  tradition  and  enter  at 
once  on  a  new  and  untrodden  path.  Such  an  object  has  never 
been  accomplished  without  the  study,  and  perhaps  even  the 
adaptation  of  an  earlier  style.  It  is  a  peculiar  characteristic  of 
a  new  style,  that  it  is  emulative  and  aspiring,  absorbed  in  the 
pursuit  of  those  lofty  ideas  which  are  frequently  crowned  with 
glorious  fruition.  Hence,  errors  of  manner  and  treatment  are 
found  bordering  closely  on  the  delicate  line  of  the  highest  spir- 
itual beauty,  so  closely,  indeed,  as  often  to  destroy  its  effect,  at 
least  in  the  opinion  of  the  world.  Yet  all  mannerism,  whether 
practiced  on  a  greater  or  a  lesser  scale,  is  gradually  giving  way 
to  truth  and  nature. 


BEAUTY.  129 

Sympathy  of  feeling  will  quicken  our  perception  of  higher 
things,  for  the  soul  alone  can  comprehend  the  truly  beautiful  ; 
the  eye  of  sense  may  gaze  on  the  material  veil  of  external  grace, 
but  it  penetrates  not  to  that  severe  and  lofty  meaning  which 
reveals  itself  to  the  intelligence  alone.  That  radiant  light  of 
the  soul,  in  which,  as  in  the  magic  mirror  of  creative  fancy,  the 
beautiful  is  vividly  portrayed  and  recognized,  is  true,  unfeigned 
and  spiritual.  It  is  the  eternal  impulse  of  the  struggling  soul 
from  within  and  the  unchangeable  decrees  of  nature  from  with- 
out. 

The  man  who  luxuriates  only  in  soft  strains  of  music,  will 
find  his  power  of  perception  at  last  melt  away  into  shadowy  in- 
distinctness ;  the  mind  that  dwells  only  on  marble  will  in  time 
find  its  softer  properties  harden  into  stone  ;  whoever  makes 
poetry  the  sole  object  of  life,  loses  vigor,  till  existence  becomes 
a  drama. 

There  is  in  the  human  breast  a  fearful  unsatisfied  desire  to 
soar  into  infinity — a  feverish  longing  to  break  through  the  nar- 
row bondage  of  individuality — and  man  is  often  so  utterly  sub- 
dued by  this  wild  longing,  that  his  very  thirst  for  freedom 
makes  him  a  prey  to  the  overwhelming  force  of  nature. 

Sensitiveness  of  soul  is  the  most  glorious,  yet  dangerous  gift 
of  heaven.  Imagine  a  character  in  which  the  susceptibility  of 
mind  is  trifling,  but  the  sensitiveness  of  soul  so  great  that  the 
slightest  emotion  thrills  through  every  nerve  of  the  spiritual 
being  ;  united,  besides,  with  a  determination  of  the  will  so  pow- 
erful, that  it  divides  with  the  soul  the  entire  guidance  of  the 
moral  feelings.  The  life  of  such  a  one  would  be  a  perpet- 
ual agitation,  like  the  storm-tossed  wave  between  earth  and 
heaven,  now  rising  as  if  to  scale  the  stars,  then  sinking  to  the 
most  fearful  abysses  of  the  ocean.  To  such  destiny  assigns  the 
loftiest  or  the  most  degrading  fate  ;  close  as  is  their  inward 
union,  they  are  entirely  divided,  and  even  in  their  overflow  of 
harmony,  shattered  and  broken  into  countless  fragments.  Such 
may  have  been  the  temperament  of  Sappho. 

The  sensation  of  beauty  is  neither  sensual  nor  intellectual, 
9 


130  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

but  is  dependent  on  a  pure,  right,  and  open  state  of  the  heart 
both  for  its  truth  and  its  intensity.  Some  have  naturally  acute 
perceptions  of  the  beautiful,  yet  do  not  receive  it  with  a  pure 
heart,  but  make  it  a  mere  minister  to  their  desires,  to  lower 
sensual  pleasures,  until  all  their  emotions,  perhaps,  take  the 
same  earthy  stamp,  and  the  sense  of  beauty  sinks  into  the  ser- 
vant of  lust. 

True  beauty  is  ideal — is  a  reflection  of  the  end  which  is 
higher  than  nature — it  is  to  the  infinite.  It  is  one  of  the 
grandest  of  mysteries.  There  is  nothing  beautiful  that  imagina- 
tion will  not  surpass.  To  succeed  you  must  exaggerate  the 
higher  excellencies. 

When  men  are  left  to  the  sole  guidance  of  artificial  laws  they 
become  reduced  to  mere  empty  shadows  and  soulless  forms  j 
while  the  undivided  sway  of  nature  leaves  them  savage  and 
loveless. 

The  soul  needs  a  certain  amount  of  intellectual  enjoyment 
to  give  it  strength.  The  energies  of  the  mind  are  as  completely 
shattered  and  destroyed  by  constant  restraint,  as  they  are  re- 
laxed and  enfeebled  by  perpetual  enjoyments.  To  make  pleas- 
ure the  sole  object  of  life  is  to  defeat  our  own  intention. 

As  all  energy  demands  for  its  development  a  free  unre- 
strained power  of  action,  so  the  sense  of  beauty  and  its  creative 
faculty  are  kindled  in  the  soul  only  by  the  free  enjoyment  and 
habitual  contemplation  of  its  creations. 

Beauty  reigns  supreme  in  art,  nature,  mankind,  and  love. 

The  most  prominent  characteristic  of  nature  is  an  ever-flow- 
ing and  exhaustless  vital  energy  ;  that  of  art  is  spiritual  unity, 
harmony,  and  symmetry. 

Art  is  bounded  on  every  side,  nature  is  vast,  illimitable. 

The  drama  and  the  stage  alone  actually  unite  art  and  nature  ; 
yet  even  here  one  isolated  feature  is  forcibly  severed  from  her 
overflowing  abundance  ;  and  although  nature  is  necessarily  pre- 
sented to  our  view  under  two  aspects  which  in  other  arts  are 
usually  divided — as,  for  instance,  a  certain  fixed  and  regular 


BEAUTY.  131 

form  combined  with  the  varying  features  of  actual  life — still 
this  union  is  highly  defective,  and  we  feel  the  elements  of  which 
it  is  composed  to  be  incongruous  and  imperfect.  The  repre- 
sentative portion  of  this  plastic  music  is  peculiarly  incomplete. 
The  ancients  by  their  ideal  masks,  sacrificed  the  life  and  illu- 
sion of  beauty  and  truth  ;  the  moderns  sacrifice  all  beauty  and 
truth,  both  of  life  and  of  the  illusion. 

Beauty  is  a  mystery  which  only  faith  and  earnestness  can 
penetrate.  It  is  a  principle  of  mind.  Every  one  is  a  creator  of 
beauty  for  himself.  The  Greeks  understood  the  nature  of 
beauty,  and  accurately  and  with  nicety  defined  it.  The  world 
is  not  made  up  of  dreams  but  of  labor  and  struggle.  Energy  is 
preferable  to  apathy.  Whatever  relaxes  duty  or  exertion,  is  an 
enemy  to  art.  Every  form  is  perfected  by  the  perfection  of  an 
idea.  Interfusion  of  form  and  idea  affects  our  whole  life. 
Ideal  images  govern  literal  existences.  The  loftier  the  idea,  so 
much  loftier  the  execution,  transcending  as  it  were  sensation. 
The  purest  pleasure  is  not  of  the  senses,  but  of  the  intellect ; 
and  no  pleasure  can  be  strictly  vivid  and  vital  unless  it  is  per- 
fected by  the  perfection  of  an  idea.  If  we  preserve  this  idea  the 
more  ennobling  the  effects. 

Not  always  denounce  the  bad — but  discover  and  encourage 
the  good.  There  is  more  to  praise  than  blame,  more  to  build 
up  than  strike  down.  Amid  a  multitude  of  faults  we  ought  not 
to  overlook  a  solitary  virtue.  This  comes  from  the  idea  of 
beauty  when  considered  in  its  completeness.  "  When  one  star 
breaks  through  the  gloom  of  the  midnight,  it  is  for  us  to  welcome 
and  cherish  it  the  more,  because  that  ONE  star  prevents  the  spread 
of  universal  darkness." 

The  modern  mind  is  limited  and  local.  Burning  ecstasies, 
bounding  activities  of  thought  exact  harassing  remorse  for  time 
wasted  unless  utilized.  The  soul-love  of  Dante  or  Tasso  leaves 
a  sense  of  incompleteness ;  that  greater  strength  and  ideality 
of  mind  have  been  given  meets  with  but  little  sympathy.  But 
did  not  Greece  choose  the  highest  mission — and  her  workings 
be  felt,  perhaps  into  the  Beyond,  when  she  made  every  man 
mightily  feel  "  I  am  an  /,"  and  taught  him  the  greatness  of  his 


132  ACTIXG   AND    ORATORY. 

individuality ;  isolated  his  relations  to  nature  and  himself. 
Not  sociality,  but  the  soul  and  its  activities,  are  the  absolute  ; 
and  around  them  cluster  all  power  of  and  faith  in  thought 
and  emotion.  He  could  be  inspired  with  such  an  intense  sen- 
timent of  Beauty,  as  to  feel  it  as  much  a  duty  to  pass  the  day 
in  feeling  the  poetry  of  sky  and  air  as  in  study.  These  feelings 
we  have  not.  We  have  science  and  law.  These  things  are 
great,  but  there  are  still  greater — the  elevation  of  soul.  We 
live  by  candle- light  and  laugh  at  those  upon  whom  has  shone  the 
sun  which  we  have  never  seen.  To  be  like  the  Greek,  thrilled 
with  a  power  of  beauty  that  left  truth  unsought  for — because  it 
was  truth.  Aglae"  trembled  in  the  stars  ;  she  sailed  upon  the 
blue  ^Egean  waters  ;  she  possessed  the  boundless  heavens,  more 
deep  than  the  abyss,  unfathomed  and  unfathomable.  There  in 
the  silence  of  vast  and  lonely  places,  Plato  sat  breathless  and 
felt  his  own  soul.  There  by  the  grey  bleakness  of  Cithasron, 
^Ischylus  saw  the  perches  of  the  Fates  and  shook  with  the 
conception  of  Titanic  power  and  agony.  There  his  mother 
Thetis  caressed  her  hero  son,  as  youthful  as  himself.  She  with 
the  young  world  has  grown  old  also. 

The  aspect  of  boundless  distance,  immeasurable  height,  the 
wide  ocean,  high  mountains,  the  sky,  rescue  the  spirit  from 
narrowness  and  the  oppressiveness  of  the  actualities  of  life  which 
might  otherwise  be  stunted.  We  must  add  the  sublime  to  the 
beautiful  to  complete  aesthetic  culture  ;  but  with  all  this,  not  neg- 
lect our  humanity  to  satisfy  our  spirituality.  Vigor  of  character 
is  marred  by  uninterrupted  enjoyment,  even  of  beauty. 

Expression,  however  terrific — action,  however  powerful — • 
gesture,  however  violent — must  always  be  under  the  guidance  of 
beauty.  True  delight  in  art  depends  on  its  fidelity.  Art  ex- 
ternal, without  soul,  is  wanton  and  capricious.  A  keen  appre- 
ciation of  the  beautiful  predisposes  to  the  beautiful  in  action. 
Such  a  mind  craves  grace,  symmetry,  and  adaptation  in  all  things. 
It  wages  continual  war  against  whatever  offends  the  eye,  or 
suggests  wrong,  ugliness  or  artifice. 

The  best  work  is  not  readiest  recognized  by  the  uninformed 
mind.  It  requires  the  full  sympathy  of  the  soul  for  true 
appreciation. 


BEA  UTY.  133 

Taste  like  conscience  is  subject  to  law  ;  there  is  a  right  and 
a  wrong  in  beauty  as  in  morals.  It  is  the  higher  qualities,  not 
the  common  ;  it  is  the  ideal.  A  susceptible  temperament,  or 
lively  fancy  will  be  spontaneously  moved  by  every  artistic  affin- 
ity. This  is  instinct  of  taste  refined  or  rude  according  to  con- 
stitutional bias.  By  association  it  may  grow  nobler  or  baser. 
Morally  it  is  of  the  highest  value  in  pointing  out  the  proclivities 
of  the  soul.  But  as  a  guide,  it  is  dubious  and  liable  to  lead  to 
error  unless  disciplined  by  the  intellect. 

Just  feelings  will  always  direct  us  to  adopt  just  principles  if 
we  are  previously  acquainted  with  them  ;  but  if  not  it  is  better 
to  decide  in  favor  of  our  feelings.  Our  feelings,  or  common 
sense  will  often  save  us  from  error,  when  our  ignorance  of  prin- 
ciples would  lead  us  astray. 

There  should  be  no  compromise  with  error  for  the  sake  of 
beauty.  It  should  be  method  by  the  severest  propriety.  Ex- 
pression may  be  even  extreme,  but  not  allow  distortion ;  not 
sacrifice  execution  out  of  subject,  nor  subject  out  of  execution. 
It  should  be  learning,  not  pedantry.  Sensibility,  imagination, 
and  quick  perception  are  not  enough  ;  the  mind  must  be  trained 
to  habitual  sympathy  with  the  beautiful  and  the  good.  It  is 
knowledge  and  comprehension,  not  sensuous  sympathy,  to 
charm  without  a  reason. 

Beauty  is  the  loftiest  mark  and  the  central  point  of  art. 
True  love  of  the  beautiful  is  unsensual.  The  highest  beauty  is 
divine,  it  is  unity  and  simplicity.  Whatever  is  great  is  elevated 
when  executed  with  simplicity.  It  is  not  limited,  nor  lessened, 
because  the  mind  can  survey  and  measure  at  a  glance,  and  com- 
prehend it  in  a  single  idea,  but  is  truly  great  and  enlarges  the 
mind. 

Separation  weakens  ;  it  should  be  simple,  long-drawn  ;  not 
bits.  A  large  palace  ornamented,  appears  small ;  and  a  house 
larger  when  plain.  Beauty  is  individual.  The  soul  is  a  simple 
existence,  but  yet  complex  in  ideas.  It  should  be  a  beautiful 
outline,  yet  of  infinitely  different  variations  ;  a  centre  con- 
stantly changing. 

Conception  of  high  and  ideal  beauty  is  not  clear  to  all.  One 
should  seek  beauty  first  in  criticism.  The  simple  bears  no 


134  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

marks ;  it  seems  the  very  language  of  nature.  Beauty  is  ab- 
solute, and  this  begets  theory  in  principles  ;  it  is  the  result  of 
harmony ;  the  union  of  contrary  principles  having  a  ratio  to 
each  other. 

Of  symmetrical  and  picturesque  beauty,  the  latter  generally 
falls  to  the  ordinary  capacity  alone,  while  genius  detects  the 
difference  by  precise  principles,  but  embraces  both.  Picturesque 
beauty  is  irregular.  Music  is  symmetrical;  birds  and  flowers 
picturesque.  The  beautiful  figures  on  flowers  are  symmetrical, 
geometrical ;  woods  and  mountains  picturesque.  The  human 
figure  is  symmetrical. 

The  highest  degree  of  beauty  is  the  result  of  equal  uniform- 
ity with  variety,  like  the  human  figure  ;  upright  is  symmetrical, 
in  action  picturesque.  Architecture  is  symmetrical,  ruins  pic- 
turesque. The  picturesque  is  not  total  absence  of  symmetry 
because  it  is  obedient  to  the  great  harmonic  law.  ^Esthetic 
science  is  the  combination  of  physical  and  metaphysical. 

First  comes  the  useful ;  then,  finer  art,  expressive  of  our 
pleasure,  which  is  skill,  beauty — conception  of  what  the  right 
costs.  Fortitude,  fire,  abstract  beauty ;  nothing  unnecessary. 
Not  mere  imagination  and  color  ;  not  child's  play,  but  genuine 
soul.  Scrupulous  labor,  not  trifling,  or  the  mind  will  become 
debauched  and  deceived  by  fallacies.  It  must  be  growth  :  or 
nothing  but  dust  by  mere  grinding.  Nothing  is  beautiful  but 
what  is  true  ;  and  the  simplest  truth  is  often  so  beautiful  and 
impressive  in  itself,  which  is  exquisite  pertinence  and  melody  ; 
the  implied  power  of  exuberance. 

Beauty  of  spirit  requires  a  pure  and  lofty  inspiration — the 
right  means  to  noble  ends.  The  magic  of  art  is  intellectual. 
"When  guided  by  cultivated  judgment  then  comes  the  severest 
test.  Eclectic  taste  spontaneously  imbibes  truth  and  beauty 
from  every  source.  The  infallible  effect  of  beauty  is  freedom 
from  passion.  It  is  unembarrassed  ease  and  grace.  Motion  is 
beautiful  as  it  implies  either  continuity  or  gradual  change  ;  the 
eagle  circling,  or  a  straight  line.  The  artist  sees  the  beautiful, 
when  the  sensual  see  only  the  alluring  and  the  frightful. 

The  voice  sometimes  attains  a  liquidity  that  steeps  the  ear 


SUBLIMITY.  135 

in  delight.  In  the  just  delivery  of  poetical  numbers,  particu 
larly  where  the  sentiments  are  pathetic,  it  is  wonderful  upon 
how  minute  an  article  of  sound  depends  their  greatest  beauty 
or  inuffection.  The  least  syllable  too  long,  or  too  slightly  dwelt 
upon  in  a  period,  depreciates  it  to  nothing ;  which  very  syllable, 
if  rightly  touched,  gives  life  and  spirit  to  the  whole.  Harmony 
pleases,  personates,  inspires  ;  like  fine  notes  in  music. 

A  good  ear  is  worth  a  thousand  rules ;  it  must  be  refined, 
cultured.  It  is  genius.  Words  then  sink  deep,  and  are  lasting 
because  elegant  and  dignified.  The  dignity  of  words  also  ought 
to  be  proportioned  to  the  dignity  of  the  sentiment.  Words  may 
be  said  to  be  of  all  colors,  shapes,  and  sizes,  like  the  stones  and 
jewels  in  a  lapidary's  shop.  Their  effect  in  speech  will  depend 
upon  the  order  in  which  they  are  strung  together,  so  as  to  ren- 
der them  pleasing  to  the  ear. 

SUBLIMITY. 

THE  sublime  produces  more  energetic,  more  profound  emo- 
tion. It  persuades  ;  and  like  lightning  bears  all  before  it.  It 
carries  us  out  of  ourselves  ;  elevates  us  to  the  sky  ;  transports 
us  into  the  infinite,  and  produces  a  kind  of  stupor  which  is  more 
powerful  than  admiration  itself  ;  for  the  sublime  impresses  in 
the  soul  a  sort  of  fright  and  terror,  which  does  not  leave  anything 
agreeable,  and  a  delightful  horror,  of  which  there  is  not  a 
shadow  in  the  emotions  excited  by  the  beautiful. 

The  beautiful  is  derived,  in  a  great  measure,  from  elegance  ; 
the  sublime  has  only  to  notice  and  make  use  of  elegance,  and 
requires  only  a  modest  simplicity.  It  rejects  ornaments,  which 
render  the  style  less  simple,  and  transports  it  over  the  accesso- 
ries of  the  mind,  in  removing  it  from  the  principal  idea.  The 
sublime  shines  better  in  proportion  to  the  candor,  concision, 
rapidity,  and  is  averse  to  pomp,  and  vain  affectation. 

The  unknown  in  the  imagination  produces  something  that 
cannot  be  seized,  movable,  unsettled,  wavering,  indefinite,  vague, 
which  is  the  property  of  the  fantastical,  and  augments  its 
charms.  Without  this  indefinite  element,  this  mystery,  works 


13t>  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

of  the  imagination  would  lose  much  of  their  ideality,  and  would 
approach  too  much  to  reality ;  and  noble  poetry  would  differ 
very  little  from  the  prose  of  human  life.  Even  nature  is  half 
hidden  by  its  own  charms,  and  has  in  reality  a  mystery  which 
renders  the  other  beauties  sweeter  and  more  touching. 

Beauty  and  sublimity  of  language  is  apt  to  be  confounded 
with  the  beauty  or  sublimity  of  the  thought  itself.  The  beauty 
of  thought  transferred  to  the  expression  makes  it  appear  more 
beautiful.  It  is  the  same  with  sublimity. 

The  imagination,  in  parting  from  the  repose  of  power  and 
in  entering  into  the  movement  of  action,  produces  the  expansion 
of  imaginary  time  and  space,  and  prepares  the  theatre  where 
the  actors  must  play.  Forced  to  restrain  these  two  forms  Avithin 
certain  limits,  in  removing  every  bound,  and  too  precise  in  leav- 
ing their  contours  to  float  in  a  kind  of  vague  and  indefinite 
space  like  the  walls  of  a  vast  amphitheatre  illuminated  by  the 
trembling  light  of  a  torch,  which  extinguishes  itself,  that  per- 
plexity of  forms  represents  and  calls  to  the  mind  the  mystery  of 
the  essence  and  the  depths  of  the  infinite.  After  having  pre- 
pared the  seat  of  the  phantoms,  the  creative  imagination 
calls  the  intellectual  types  by  their  own  names,  causes  them  to- 
pass  from  their  mental  simplicity  to  the  subsistence  and  to  the 
fantastical  reality,  adorns  and  dresses  them  as  bodies,  individu- 
alizes them,  vivifies  them,  causes  them  to  appear,  to  gesticulate, 
speak,  act  on  the  scene  which  is  assigned  to  them.  Thus  the 
mind  passes  by  the  three  degrees  of  ideal  formula,  and  after  hav- 
ing created  the  sublime  and  the  marvelous,  it  produces  beauty, 
and  augments  its  splendor  by  some  features  of  the  supernatu- 
ral and  the  mysterious,  in  mixing  shades  with  the  light,  ami  in 
adding  something  extraordinary  to  the  course  of  events  that  it 
describes,  and  to  the  nature  of  the  personages  that  it  represents. 

The  poets  and  romancers  of  the  century,  a  small  number 
excepted,  revel  in  what  is  strange,  deformed  or  atrocious.  It  is 
the  same  thing  with  the  style,  of  which  the  perfection  consists 
in  the  simplicity  and  exactitude  of  words  and  phrases,  and  in 
the  correspondence  of  the  word  with  the  idea  it  expresses. 


SUBLIMITY.  13? 

When  one  confounds  all  the  ideas,  the  elocution  participates 
in  the  same  disorder,  and  becomes  obscure,  affected,  unequal, 
by  turns  trivial,  ranting  and  bombastic,  and  nearly  always  bar- 
barous. 

The  knowledge  of  the  ideal  formula  is  necessary  to  have  an 
adequate  idea,  not  only  of  the  beautiful,  but  of  the  sublime  and 
of  the  other  aesthetic  data.  The  most  exquisite  sublime,  the 
dynamical,  originates  from  the  conception  of  an  infinite  force, 
and  consequently  creative ;  for  an  infinite  force  must  be  an 
efficient  and  absolute  cause,  which  could  not  be  such  if  it  con- 
fined itself  to  coordinate  and  to  transform  pre-existing  sub- 
stances, or  else  to  create  simple  modifications  and  phenomena. 

The  properties  and  dispositions  of  the  soul  may  fall  under 
the  aesthetic,  by  virtue  of  the  connection  of  the  soul  with  the 
body  and  the  union  of  the  two  in  one  person.  It  is  by  the 
effect  of  that  intimate  relation  that  the  sentiments  and  other, 
phenomena  of  the  mind  show  themselves  externally,  and  ani- 
mate the  face,  gestures,  voice,  gait,  deportment  of  man,  in 
constituting  that  artistical  element  called  expression.  A  spirit- 
ual light,  which  reflects  from  the  soul  on  the  face  and  on  the 
whole  form,  by  making  material  and  visible,  in  a  certain  man- 
ner, that  which  by  its  nature  is  above  the  sight  and  the  sensi- 
bility. It  is  particularly  in  the  eye  and  voice  that  it  resides. 
The  eye  is  the  hearth  of  the  soul,  where  it  enjoys  the  perspec- 
tive of  things,  and  receives  from  it  the  reflect  in  itself  ;  also  is 
it  that  in  the  eye  the  material  element  mixes  itself  in  a  certain 
manner  with  the  spiritual  element  by  the  means  of  light,  of 
which  the  nature  is  little  material. 

The  vivacity  and  vigor  of  the  look  contribute  to  increase  the 
gracefulness  of  the  smile,  which  is  another  sensible  manifesta- 
tion of  the  mind  on  the  face,  and  a  prerogative  of  man.  The 
laugh,  which  is  the  movement  and  gest  of  the  features,  agrees 
naturally  with  the  look,  which  is  the  lightning  by  which  the 
lineaments  of  the  face  acquire  something  spiritual,  and  are  put 
in  evidence.  The  laugh  is  a  splendor  of  the  soul,  and  the  eye 
an  animated  mirror.  The  voice  is  also  very  apt  to  color  the 


138  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

sentiments  of  the  soul,  especially  if  it  elevates  itself  to  the  tone 
of  measured  cadences,  and  associates  itself  to  the  mute  language 
of  the  face  and  gestures,  as  in  scenic  representation. 

It  is  indeed  repugnant  to  a  man  of  high  taste,  to  see  badly 
treated  by  an  impudent  and  shameless  imagination,  things 
which,  by  their  very  nature,  are  most  venerable  and  sacred. 

Wherever  we  find  strength  we  observe  the  sublime ;  and 
contempt  comes  to  weakness.  Infinity  has  a  tendency  to  fill 
the  mind  with  delightful  horror,  the  truest  test  of  the  sublime. 
Nothing  is  more  prejudicial  to  grandeur  than  angles,  a  fault 
from  a  thirst  for  variety.  Design  vast  by  mere  dimension  is 
the  sign  of  a  common  imagination.  Unless  it  have  the  appear- 
ance of  infinity,  by  disorder,  it  will  be  disorder  only,  without 
magnificence. 

Grandeur  is  best  seen  in  one  large  mass  of  uniformity  of  de- 
eign,  color  or  expression. 

Whatever  exceeds  the  common  size,  is  always  great  and 
amazing. 

In  the  sublime  the  slighter  and  superficial  disappear,  and 
show  only  lines  more  simple  and  dignified  ;  it  is  only  the  ab- 
stract, grand  indifference. 

In  speech  it  is  vast,  rugged,  negligent,  angular,  dark,  gloomy, 
and  of  few  words.  When  outstretched  it  loses  tone.  It  should 
be  constructed  to  harmony  of  sound.  It  is  with  a  few  parts, 
bold,  great ;  and  nothing  little  or  mean.  Beauty  is  order,  pro- 
portion, unity. 

Sublimity  is  irregular  ;  it  consists  in  magnitude.  It  is  in- 
tangible as  light,  invisible  as  the  soul. 

Genius  can  never  rise  to  sublimity  where  virtue  and  morals 
are  depraved.  Nothing  can  be  great  and  glorious  which  is  not 
just  and  good  ;  and  the  dignity  of  what  we  utter  and  what  we 
act,  depends  entirely  on  the  dignity  of  our  thoughts,  and  the 
inward  greatness  and  elevation  of  the  soul  of  which  it  is  a  re 
fleeted  image. 


NATURE  139 


NATURE. 

IT  is  impossible  to  separate  art  from  nature  without  propor- 
tionable loss  at  every  remove.  It  is  not  common  but  selected 
nature.  A  sculptor  with  a  human  figure  in  set  attitude  makes 
his  work  stiff  ;  but  when  the  subject  takes  his  own  position  the 
work  is  natural. 

You  must  outdo  and  give  more  than  nature.  It  is  always 
truth,  beauty,  and  sublimity.  You  must  have  no  juggling, 
sophistry,  intrigue,  tampering,  but  resign  yourself  into  the 
hands  of  nature  with  the  simplicity  of  a  child  and  the  devotion 
of  an  enthusiast.  "  Study  with  joy  her  manner,  and  with  rapture 
her  style."  Patience  grows  out  of  the  pursuit  and  turns  it  into 
a  luxury.  Say  what  you  will  of  rules,  unless  used  judiciously 
they  alter  the  true  features,  and  the  natural  expression.  All 
design  must  look  like  accident. 

To  the  refined  all  is  beauty  and  to  the  gross  all  is  gross. 
Life  and  soul  are  necessary  to  reach  the  highest  triumphs.  In 
that  which  is  simple,  beauty  is  transfiguration,  light. 

It  is  the  constant  habit  of  nature  to  use  both  her  highest 
and  deepest  shadows  in  exceeding  small  quantity ;  in  points, 
never  in  masses.  If  ever  large  always  subdued.  In  exhaustless 
variety  ;  expanse  of  harmonious  light — decisive  shadow. 

Completeness  must  have  the  general  wholeness  and  effect 
of  nature,  and  the  inexhaustible  perfection  of  details.  If 
merely  details,  however,  mechanism, — if  generalities,  trickery. 

Every  part  must  be  filled  by  thought,  every  turn  modulated, 
every  change  graded,  every  vacancy  filled  ;  every  point  fath- 
omless and  exhaustless  ;  otherwise  imperfect.  Straight  from 
the  life.  • 

If  this  great  truth  were  sincerely,  humbly  understood,  how 
many  pangs  would  be  spared,  that,  if  a  great  thing  can  be 
done,  it  can  be  done  easily  ;  when  needed  to  be  done  perhaps 
only  one  can  do  it,  and  without  more  trouble  than  it  costs  small 
people  to  do  small  things.  The  evidence  of  ease  is  on  the  front 
of  all  the  greatest  works  in  existence.  It  is  not  the  weariness  of 


140  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

weakness,  but  the  strength  of  will.  Not  iron  bars  and  perspira- 
tion, but  brains. 

It  is  difficult  to  show,  in  a  clear  light,  the  genuine  face  of 
nature.  Its  characters  are  legible,  but  not  plain  enough  to 
read.  It  requires  caution.  It  is  complex,  and  every  distinct: 
part  is  to  be  examined,  one  by  one,  and  reduced  to  the  utmost 
simplicity.  Then  one  must  reexamine  the  principles  by  the 
effect  when  combined.  Then  compare  with  something  similar 
and  even  contrary,  to  learn  by  contrast.  The  greater  the  com- 
parisons, the  more  general  and  the  more  certain.  If  this  full 
short  of  truth  it  may  discover  our  weakness,  and  make  us 
modest.  If  not  preserve  from  error  at  least  from  its  spirit,  and 
make  us  cautious  of  pronouncing  with  positiveness  or  haste. 
Experiment  merely  is  nothing,  it  must  have  proper  means. 
Whatever  turns  the  soul  in  on  itself  tends  to  concentrate  its 
forces,  to  make  it  stronger,  otherwise  illiberal. 

Nature  does  not  consist  in  the  observance  of  rules,  but 
rules  may  be  deduced  from  the  examination  of  nature.  The 
perfection  of  art,  therefore,  is  in  nowise  incompatible  with 
the  strictest  adherence  to  nature.  An  art  is  not  learned 
in  a  day ;  its  first  principles  may  be  mastered,  but  their  ap- 
plication must  be  a  work  of  time.  A  few  hours  cannot  un- 
do the  meaning  of  the  work  of  years,  it  must  be  practice 
and  gradual  acquirement.  A  man's  own  faults  sit  easy  on 
him  ;  habit  has  given  them  the  air  of  being  natural.  They 
seem  so. 

Nothing  can  destroy  the  human  heart.  Man  cannot  divest 
himself  of  his  natural  sublimity  of  thought  and  affection,  how- 
ever he  may  pervert  or  deprave  it.  It  is  humanity  still  even  in 
a  den.  Nature  prevails,  and  to  the  last. 

Nature  is  the  soul  of  art.  The  strength  in  the  imagination 
is  that  which  reposes  entirely  on  nature,  which  nothing  else  can 
supply.  Art  should  appear  to  be  the  work  of  nature  herself. 
The  just  rules  of  art  are  founded  in  nature,  hence  their  adop- 
tion and  application  tend  to  free  us  from  our  defects,  which  are 
departures  from  nature. 

Spontaneous  nature  is  found  only  through  the  torture  of 
art.  The  savage  despises  art  and  recognizes  nature  ;  the  bar- 


NATURE.  141 

Darian  mocks  nature,  the  civilized  makes  a  friend  of  nature, 
curbing  only  her  caprice. 

Nature  manifests  the  most  profound  and  inscrutable  art ; 
and  art  which  is  a  reflection  of  nature  in  its  exactitude  and  pre- 
cision, approaches,  when  most  cultivated,  nearest  to  nature,  and 
satisfies  human  wants. 

Nature  is  none  the  less  simple,  strong  and  vigorous  because 
subjected,  disciplined,  and  refined.  It  is  inexhaustible  in  ex- 
pression. It  is  obscure,  unfathomable  ;  it  is  complexity  seem- 
ing to  sublime  disorder  ;  with  all  germs  of  beauty  for  the  human 
mind  to  discover,  and  make  into  unity.  Nature  is  sounds,  man 
music.  Not  as  nature  but  as  she  should  be. 

Nature's  best  lessons  are  rare,  but  once  given  to  the  detective 
artist,  thev  last  centuries  to  cheer  and  delight  men. 

*•  o 

Nature  in  mysterious  art  is  nearest  when  inexplicable,  sug- 
gestive. The  least  comprehensible  the  best,  decisive.  Nature  is 
constantly  beautiful ;  she  does  not  exhibit  her  highest  powers 
continually,  for  they  would  satiate.  They  are  rarely  shown. 
They  are  the  most  evanescent. 

Seize  all  occasions  of  observing  nature,  even  in  those  effects 
which  are  unfrequent  in  their  occurrence  ;  but  never  lose  sight 
of  the  main  end  and  grand  design  by  too  servile  an  imitation. 

Mere  surprise  without  nature  cannot  be  lasting.  Be  elo- 
quent by  zeal,  not  declaim  through  vanity.  Strike  immediately  ; 
not  progression  without  strength. 

Nature  when  minutely  copied  is  outrageous  ;  creative  freedom 
is  what  is  required. 

Witches,  wild  and  solemn,  yet  seem  natural ;  no  rule  to  judge 
them.  The  fancy  delights  in  things  great,  strange  or  beautiful. 

One  of  the  great  beauties  of  arc,  is  to  show  it  waving  and 
retiring  ;  now  losing  and  then  recovering  as  always  in  nature. 
Scholastic  stiffness  is  contemptible.  Waves  continually  chang- 
ing in  detail,  as  in  the  surf,  awaken  a  feeling  of  repose  and 
generate  an  idea  of  life  wide  and  grand,  but  in  perfect  and 
harmonious  order.  Ripples  worry  the  spirit 


142  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 


GENIUS. 

GENIUS  stands  apart.  But  this  isolation  is  one  element  of 
its  greatness.  Whatever  be  the  cause,  there  is  something  inex- 
pressibly mournful  in  that  reserve  which  forbids  human  com- 
munion. Yet  the  solitude  of  such  is  the  result  of  their  intense 
yearning  to  ennoble  humanity.  They  love  their  species  over- 
much, not  too  little,  and  are  stirred  by  an  infinite  compassion 
to  guide  them  into  higher  ways  of  life.  They  aim  to  grasp  the 
creative-absolute  ;  to  master  the  infinity  of  nature  ;  and  they 
look  with  contempt  on  the  superficial  pretty.  With  them  it 
must  be  passion,  depth,  high  intellectual  purpose.  Rules  can- 
not inspire  such,  but  they  can  correct  them,  and  true  genius 
never  blushes  to  receive  instruction  even  from  inferiors.  Imi- 
tation gives  scope  to  genius — but  it  is  only  by  the  additional 
power  that  it  ever  becomes  great.  Genius  is  cultivated  by 
principles,  and  observation  of  nature.  Genius  may  be  enough 
if  one  has  enough  of  it  but  the  greatest  have  had  a  sound  un- 
derstanding. Till  one  is  able  to  seize  with  intuitive  quickness 
all  the  appearances  of  nature  it  is  only  mechanism.  Yet  rules 
are  not  fetters  to  genius,  but  to  those  who  have  none.  Mere 
imitation  is  imbecility.  The  very  spirit  of  principles  is  weak- 
ened by  it. 

Exaggeration  of  physical  effort,  bodily  agitations  and  dis- 
tortions, are  mistaken  for  the  quest  of  deep  mental  emotion  but 
they  are  the  weakness  not  the  strength  of  nature.  Instead  one 
should  breathe  with  vitality,  flush  with  action,  animate  by 
thought. 

Little  geniuses  take  peculiar  pride  in  their  accuracy  and 
nicety  of  thought  and  manners.  They  often  descry  inaccura- 
cies and  inelegancies  that  escape  the  more  enlarged  views.  The 
safer  side  to  err  on  is  that  of  abundance.  He  who  takes  a  broad 
view  cannot  afford  to  examine  all  the  details  confined  to  a 
point.  The  former  never  astonish  the  world.  Their  art  lies 
in  mere  method.  They  become  bewildered  with  higher  beauties. 

The  attempt  to  apply  mathematical  precision  to  truth  is 
always  a  failure.  It  is  not  pure  intellect. 


GENIUS.  143 

Most  truth  is  taught  us  by  our  instincts,  our  sentiments, 
our  passions,  and  yet  we  should  be  as  little  children — simple, 
obedient — in  order  to  learn.  Genius  should  not  be  enslaved  by 
law,  nor  be  misled  by  feeling.  True  genius  is  unconscious  of 
the  action  of  the  law ;  it  is  noble  and  natural,  and  requires 
more  of  the  individual.  It  is  subjected  besides,  for  its  perfect 
expression,  to  study  and  the  law. 

And  still  the  indefinable  manners  of  genius  are,  perhaps, 
more  natural  than  the  fixed  and  uniform  habits  of  contracted 
minds,  as  they  are  governed  by  the  impulse  of  the  moment — by 
feelings  eternally  varying  by  circumstances  which  produce  them. 
Such  stand  more  in  need  of  precedent — by  precepts  to  regulate 
their  conduct,  or  at  least  that  endless  variety  of  expression  which 
continually  crowds  upon  them.  He  needs  to  be  refined  and 
made  agreeable  and  pleasing  in  his  ways.  Taste  will  find  diffi- 
culty in  guiding  such,  because  the  greater  the  diversity,  the 
greater  regulation  is  required. 

Genius  may  be  fertile  in  ideas,  ardent  in  imagination  and 
elevated  in  conception,  but  mere  genius  will  not  acquaint  one 
with  the  nature  and  movements  of  the  human  heart.  This  is 
the  work  of  experience. 

Even  in  the  brilliant  career  of  true  genius  we  find  its  efforts 
are  crowned  only  after  the  most  steadfast  and  unremitting  ad- 
herence to  purpose.  Man  has  a  complex  nature  combining  all 
the  elements,  and  it  is  not  a  man's  business  whether  he  has 
genius  or  not,  for  no  agonies  will  make  him  better.  If  he  is 
great  he  will  do  great  things  ;  if  small,  small  things.  A  great 
man  means  to  do,  and  devotes  all  his  power  to  that  end.  What 
a  man  does  is  the  real  test  of  what  a  man  is.  Mediocre  men 
mistake  aspiration  for  inspiration ;  they  have  first-class  ambi- 
tion with  third-rate  powers  which  lead  to  endless  mortifications. 
It  is  not  in  wanting. 

To  achieve  greatness  we  must  be  unconscious  of  the  way  to 
it.  Peacefully,  is  good  and  right ;  restlessly,  is  false  and  hol- 
low. It  is  will  to  labor,  not  power  to  achieve.  It  is  utility  of 
action,  not  intellectual  supremacy.  A  moderate  talent  well 
applied  will  do  more  than  highest  mind  which  may  be  too  fine 
to  work. 


144  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

Genius  may  couceive  with  the  rapidity  of  light,  but  elabora- 
tion is  the  result  of  long  and  diligent  practice.  An  idea  which 
is  to  change  the  aspect  of  the  world,  may  be  born  in  a  second, 
but  the  means  may  be  centuries  in  maturing.  A  sketch  from 
an  artist's  hand  may  be  thrown  off  at  once,  but  its  completeness 
is  often  the  labor  of  years.  With  genius  small  things  show  in 
the  beginning,  what  great  things  may  be  expected  in  the  end. 

Genius  may  not.  however,  be  always  faithful  to  its  best  in- 
stincts, if  it  be  much  petted  and  lavishly  paid,  as  is  oftentimes 
the  case. 

Michael  Angelo,  the  sincerest,  greatest,  loftiest-minded  art- 
ist, worked  assiduously  night  and  day  on  his  statues.  With  all 
his  genius  he  gave  unmistakable  evidences  of  intense  study. 

Genius  is  frequently  diffident.  True  genius  is  rarely  able  to 
make  a  fortune.  It  is  destitute  of  presumption  which  imposes 
on  the  ignorant  and  superficial,  and  a  stranger  to  the  subtle  arts 
of  insinuation,  which  procure  the  friendship  of  the  weak  and 
vain,  and  restrained  in  its  sentiments  through  fear  of  ridicule. 
It  is  sometimes  reserved  ;  conscious  of  deserving,  but  not  eager 
to  court  esteem  ;  disdains  to  natter  ;  scorns  servility.  Through 
its  love  of  the  romantic  and  ideal  it  sometimes  meets  with  fatal 
disappointments.  It  may  be  delicious  to  mental  appetite,  but  is 
a  bitter  draught  from  anguish  of  deceived  hope.  It  has  a  pre- 
cipitate temerity  in  judgment  and  does  things  sometimes  ridic- 
ulous from  volatility.  Sometimes  inconstant  and  irresolute,  the 
effect  of  too  pliant  a  temper,  a  disposition  to  oblige,  devising 
expedients  for  reconciling  different  views,  hesitating  as  to  means 
in  accomplishing  purposes,  making  concessions  and  repenting  of 
them.  A  kind  of  weakness  and  imbecility  at  times,  even  though 
great.  It  is  notable  in  abstraction  of  thought ;  alienation  of 
mind  ;  and  the  power  of  self-amusement.  While  the  idle  per- 
petually change  to  lull  care,  genius  finds  resource  in  contem- 
plation or  action  against  that  deplorable  satiety  and  lassitude 
of  mind.  It  has  its  troubles  as  well  as  comforts,  and  it  is  its 
misfortune  to  be  susceptible  of  pain  as  well  as  pleasure.  Its  life 
is  for  the  most  part  a  state  of  warfare.  With  mankind  in  bulk, 
other  gratifications  are  of  greater  account  than  the  most  exalted 
genius,  they  preferring  the  blandishments  of  impudence  and 


GENIUS.  145 

opulence.  When  at  timos  in  dependent  situation,  its  treatment 
by  inferiors  in  abilities,  dissimilar  tempers,  and  modes  of  life, 
will  be  peculiarly  disgusting.  Insults  of  brutality  he  submits  to 
with  contemptuous  though  silent  disdain.  He  may  often  be 
without  patrons,  and  left  to  languish  in  obscurity ;  to  feel  the 
rigors  of  adversity,  complaining  of  its  melancholy  situation  in 
the  anguish  of  a  broken  heart  in  vain.  The  fame  to  which  it 
.aspires  being  uncertain,  disappointment  in  pursuit  of  it,  the 
miseries  it  is  doomed  to  experience,  leaves  little  to  be  envied  by 
its  possessor  of  such  gifts.  Genius  oftenest  finds  its  elements  of 
effort  and  strength  in  tempestuous  passions,  and  turbulent  sen- 
sibilities ;  and  yet  the  loftiest  must  descend  familiarly  to  the 
comprehension  of  a  child  to  watch  humanity  in  his  own  heart. 

Genius  must  be  educated  by  contemplation,  not  of  the  tol- 
•erably  good,  but  of  the  truly  excellent.  It  must  see  on.ly  the 
best,  and  when  grounded  in  those  it  will  have  a  standard  for 
the  rest,  which  it  will  know  how  to  value  without  overrating 
them.  It  should  be  the  best  in  each  class,  and  let  no  class  be 
despised,  for  each  gives  delight  when  genius  attains  its  highest 
point. 


PART   III. 

THE    THfiATRE    FRANCAIS:    AND    ITS 
METHOD. 

riHHE  traditions  of  the  Comedie  Franchise — that  is  the  sov- 
-1-  ereign  word,  and  that  is  the  charm  of  the  place — the  charm 
that  one  never  ceases  to  feel,  however  often  one  may  sit  be- 
neath the  classic  dusky  dome.  One  feels  this  charm  with  pe- 
culiar intensity  as  a  newly  arrived  foreigner.  The  Theatre 
Franqais  has  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  able  to  allow  its  tradi- 
tions to  accumulate.  They  have  been  preserved,  transmitted, 
respected,  cherished,  until  at  last  they  form  the  very  atmos- 
phere, the  vital  air,  of  the  establishment.  A  stranger  feels 
their  superior  influence  the  first  time  he  sees  the  great  curtain 
go  up ;  he  feels  that  he  is  in  a  theatre  which  is  not  as  other 
theatres  are.  It  is  not  only  better,  it  is  different.  It  has  a  pe- 
culiar perfection — something  consecrated,  historical,  academic. 
This  impression  is  delicious,  and  lie  watches  the  performance 
in  a  sort  of  tranquil  ecstasy.  Never  has  he  seen  anything  so 
smooth  and  harmonious,  so  artistic  and  complete.  He  has 
heard  all  his  life  of  attention  to  detail,  and  now,  for  the  first 
time,  he  sees  something  that  deserves  the  name.  He  sees 
dramatic  effort  refined  to  a  point  with  which  the  English  stage 
is  unacquainted.  He  sees  that  there  are  no  limits  to  possible 
'•'finish,"  and  that  so  trivial  an  act  as  taking  a  letter  from  a 
servant  or  placing  one's  hat  on  a  chair  may  be  made  a  sugges- 
tive and  interesting  incident.  He  sees  these  things  and  a  great 
many  more  besides,  but  at  first  he  does  not  analyze  them  ;  he 
gives  himself  up  to  a  sympathetic  contemplation.  He  is  in  an 
ideal  and  exemplary  world — a  world  that  has  managed  to  attain 


THE   THEATRE  FRANCAIS.  147 

all  the  felicities  that  the  world  we  live  in  misses.  The  people 
do  the  things  that  we  should  like  to  do  ;  they  are  gifted  as  we 
should  like  to  be  ;  they  have  mastered  the  accomplishments  that 
we  have  had  to  give  up.  The  women  are  graceful,  agreeable, 
sympathetic,  lady-like ;  they  have  the  best  manners  possible, 
and  they  are  delightfully  well  dressed.  They  have  charming 
musical  voices,  and  they  speak  with  irreproachable  purity  and 
sweetness ;  they  walk  with  the  most  elegant  grace,  and  when 
they  sit  it  is  a  pleasure  to  see  their  attitudes.  They  go  out  and 
come  in,  they  pass  across  the  stage,  they  talk  and  laugh  and 
cry,  they  deliver  long  tirades  or  remain  statuesquely  mute  ;  they 
are  tender  or  tragic,  they  are  comic  or  conventional :  and  through 
it  all  you  never  observe  an  awkwardness,  a  roughness,  an  acci- 
dent, a  crude  spot,  a  false  note.  To  be  handsome,  however,  is 
for  an  actor  one  of  the  last  necessities  ;  and  the  men  are  mostly 
handsome  enough.  They  look  perfectly  what  they  are  intended 
to  look,  and  in  cases  where  it  is  proposed  that  they  shall  seem 
handsome,  they  usually  succeed.  They  are  as  well  mannered 
and  as  well  dressed  as  their  fairer  comrades,  and  their  voices  are 
no  less  agreeable  and  effective.  They  represent  gentlemen,  and 
they  produce  the  illusion..  In  this  endeavor  they  deserve  even 
greater  credit  than  the  actresses,  for  in  modern  comedy,  of  which 
the  repertory  of  the  Theatre  Franqais  is  largely  composed,  they 
have  nothing  in  the  way  of  costume  to  help  to  carry  it  off. 
Half  a  dozen  ugly  men,  in  the  periodic  coat  and  trousers  and 
stove-pipe  hat,  with  blue  chins  and  false  moustache,  strutting 
before  the  foot-lights,  and  pretending  to  be  interesting,  roman- 
tic, pathetic,  heroic,  certainly  play  a  perilous  game.  At  every 
turn  they  suggest  prosaic  things,  and  their  liabilities  to  awk- 
wardness are  increased  a  thousand  fold.  But  the  comedians  of 
the  Theatre  Frangais  are  never  awkward,  and  when  it  is  neces- 
sary they  solve  triumphantly  the  problem  of  being  at  once  real- 
istic to  the  eye  and  romantic  to  the  imagination. 

Few  know  the  amount  of  work — real  downright  work — that 
goes  to  make  up  the  perfection  of  the  French  stage.  Our  young 
women  are  smitten  with  a  desire  to  act ;  they  provide  themselves 
with  a  gorgeous  wardrobe,  take  a  few  lessons  in  elocution  (which 
too  often  do  them  more  harm  than  good),  learn  the  words  of  a 


148  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

few  parts,  and  rush  upon  the  boards — to  wonder  that  they  fail. 
M\-  !zo  to  the  Theatre  Franc.ais,  we  see  absolute  perfection  of 
reading  and  action,  simple  wardrobes  and  slovenly  scenery  in 
comparison  with  our  own,  but  such  fidelity  to  Nature  in  every 
tone  and  movement,  such  weight  of  meaning  in  every  gesture 
and  inflection,  such  grace,  such  harmony,  that  we  cry  in  despair, 
"  The  French  are  born  actors,  they  are  not  made  I "  But  when 
we  catch  glimpses  behind  the  scenes  we  begin  to  see  whence 
comes  some  of  this  finish,  and  to  realize  the  truth  of  the  saying 
that  genius  is  an  infinite  capacity  for  taking  pains. 

To  direct  and  to  criticise  players  during  their  rehearsals  re- 
quires a  great  deal  of  skill.  One  learns  most  valuable  lessons 
in  such  a  school,  but  at  terrible  cost  to  one's  vanity  at  times. 

The  last  creation  but  one  of  the  great  Mademoiselle  Mars 
was  the  Louise  de  Lignerolles,  of  LegouvS,  and  yet,  before  the 
curtain  of  the  Theatre  Franqais  rose  upon  the  piece,  she  had 
had  sixty-eight  rehearsals  at  the  theatre,  besides  all  her  private 
study  \  For  three  months  author  and  actors  worked  together, 
and  every  time  Legouve's  youthful  enthusiasm  led  him  into  any 
exaggeration  of  tone,  Mademoiselle  Mars  would  gravely  imitate 
him.  with  just  the  touch  of  caricature  that  turned  the  whole 
thing  into  ridicule.  The  author  writhed,  but  the  reader  accepted 
the  lesson.  Years  afterward  Eachel  was  to  play  the  same  part, 
and  she  was  anxious  to  play  it  as  like  her  great  predecessor  as 
possible.  One  scene,  containing  perhaps  three  or  four  hundred 
words  in  all,  must  be  rendered  with  special  fidelity.  She  called 
Legouve"  to  her  aid,  and  for  three  long  hours  they  read  over 
and  over  those  thirty  lines  till  she  had  mastered  every  shade  of 
inflection. 

The  great  force  of  attention,  the  fineness  of  intellect  and 
sincere  modesty  of  this  admirable  artist  astonished  and  in- 
structed him.  He  says,  "  With  what  ardor  we  yoked  ourselves 
to  this  difficult  task  I  Not  one  of  the  three  or  four  hundred 
words  which  compose  this  scene  but  we  fairly  excavated,  turning 
them  into  every  shape  that  could  convey  sense  to  us,  and  to  find 
their  true  and  penetrative  emphasis."  Three  such  hours  were 
worth  months  of  ordinary  work. 


VOICE   TRAILING.  149 

Voice  Training — Suggested  by  the  French  Method. 

The  voice  must  always  be  adjusted,  not  only  to  the  size,  but 
to  the  peculiar  acoustic  qualities,  of  the  room  in  which  one 
speaks. 

When  we  wish  to  play  upon  that  most  wonderful  of  all 
instruments,  the  human  voice,  we  find  few  teachers  who  can 
give  us  anything  more  than  a  few  general  rules  and  a  little 
training  by  rote.  If  the  scholar  have  no  imitative  faculty,  he 
is  lost.  With  this  system  of  teaching,  the  wonder  is,  not  that 
we  have  so  few  good  readers  and  singers,  but  that  we  have  any. 
The  intelligent  student,  after  some  vain  efforts  to  find  an  intel- 
ligent teacher,  usually  relapses  into  despair,  or,  if  possessed  of 
uncommon  energy,  works  out  a  system  for  himself. 

There  seems  to  be  a  vague  feeling  in  the  minds  of  people  in 
general  that  we  have  some  special  arrangement  for  singing  that 
has  to  be  brought  into  play  by  strenuous  effort,  whereas  the  act 
of  singing  or  reading  should  be  as  easy  and  natural  as  our  speech. 
We  often  hear  of  the  "registers"  of  the  voice,  of  the  "chest- 
register"  and  the  '''head-register,"  as  if  they  were  distinct 
organs,  and,  like  the  right  and  left  hands  of  the  pianist,  had  to 
be  trained  to  special  separate  uses.  It  takes  us  all  some  time  to 
learn  the  lesson  science  teaches  us,  that  there  are  really  no  such 
things  as  "registers"  in  the  voice;  that  we  all  have  one  little 
organ  in  the  throat  by  whose  vibrations  all  sounds  are  made, 
from  the  baby's  cry  to  the  highest  and  lowest  notes  that  a 
trained  singer  can  reach.  We  may  learn  to  use  the  voice  in  the 
best  way  by  intuition  or  by  imitation,  but  it  is  much  safer  to 
use  it  understandingly,  and  to  know  the  peculiar  character  of 
the  delicate  and  wonderful  instrument  that  we  treat  so  badly. 

The  organs  of  sound  are  the  lungs,  which  furnish  us  with  a 
column  of  air,  and  the  vocal  chords  that  are  thrown  into  vibra- 
tion by  the  motion  of  that  column  of  air,  as  the  strings  of  an 
JEolian  harp  are  agitated  by  the  wind.  In  the  throat  lies  the 
movable  box  called  the  larynx,  with  an  opening  at  the  top  called 
the  glottis,  across  which  are  stretched  the  vocal  chords.  They 
are  not  cords,  properly  speaking,  but  membranes  ;  a  drum-head 
slit  across  would  represent  them  more  exactly.  By  an  act  of 


150  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

volition,  for  the  most  part  unconscious,  we  tighten  or  loosen, 
the  tension  of  these  membranes,  throwing  against  them  at  the 
same  instant  the  column  of  air  from  the  lungs.  When  we  in- 
crease the  tension  of  the  membranes,  we  increase  the  swiftness  of 
the  vibrations,  and  thus  raise  the  pitch  of  the  sound  produced. 
A  high  note  requires  that  the  vocal  chords  should  be  all  but 
touching  and  all  but  parallel.  If,  from  any  cause  (swelling  from 
cold,  etc.),  they  do  touch  anywhere,  the  voice  cracks.  '•  The 
sweetness  and  smoothness  of  the  voice,"  says  Professor  Tyndall, 
"  depend  on  the  perfect  closure  of  the  slit  of  the  glottis  at  regu- 
lar intervals  during  the  vibration/"'  The  pitch,  of  course,  de- 
pends on  the  number  of  vibrations  produced  in  a  second.  The 
middle  C  of  the  piano  corresponds  to  two  hundred  and  sixty- 
four  vibrations  a  second,  its  octave  to  double  that  number.  The 
lowest  number  of  vibrations  a  second  that  can  be  distinguished 
by  the  ear  is  said  to  be  sixteen,  the  highest  thirty-eight 
thousand. 

Having,  then,  sent  our  column  of  air  against  the  vocal 
chords,  vibrating  at  the  rate,  let  us  say,  of  two  hundred  and 
sixty-four  times  a  second,  we  have  produced  a  certain  sound. 
That  sound  ascends  into  the  resonant  cavity  of  the  mouth  and 
becomes  tone,  by  the  proper  adjustment  of  the  shape  and  size 
of  that  cavity,  just  as  the  snapping  of  a  violin-string  against  a 
flat  board  would  produce  only  a  noise,  but,  against  the  resonant 
cavity  of  the  violin,  it  produces  a  musical  note.  "  Although 
the  vibrations  of  the  vocal  chords  are  practically  unaffected  by 
the  resonance  of  the  mouth,  this  resonance,  by  reenforcing  one 
or  the  other  of  the  tones  of  the  vocal  chords,  influences  in  a 
striking  manner  the  clang-tint  of  the  voice.''  To  this  first  pro- 
cess if  we  add  a  quick  movement  of  the  tongue  against  the  roof 
of  the  mouth  just  behind  the  teeth,  and  then  push  the  lips 
forward  a  little  in  a  rounded  form,  we  have  articulation. 

The  compass  of  the  voice  depends  upon  the  length  of  the 
vocal  chords,  its  smoothness  and  sweetness  upon  the  perfection 
of  their  vibrating  edges,  but  deficiencies  in  both  particulars 
may  be  supplied,  in  a  great  degree,  by  the  proper  manage 
ment  of  the  resonant  cavity  of  the  mouth.  By  learning  to  con- 
trol the  muscles  of  the  tongue,  we  can  change  the  shape 


VOICE  TRAINING.  151 

of  our  sounding-board  at  once,  and  thus  vary  the  quality  of  our 
tone. 

Quality,  which  the  French  call  timbre,  the  Germans  Klang- 
farbe,  and  which  Professor  Tyndall  proposes  to  call  clang-tint, 
depends  upon  a  union  of  unequal  vibrations.  A  stretched 
string  can  either  vibrate  as  a  whole,  or  as  a  number  of  equal 
parts,  each  of  which  vibrates  as  an  independent  string.  In  fact, 
we  never  can  cause  a  string  to  vibrate  without  causing  this  sub- 
division to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  so  that  we  have  always,  in 
addition  to  the  sound  produced  by  the  vibration  of  the  whole 
string,  called  the  fundamental  tone,  the  sound  produced  by 
the  vibration  of  its  parts,  called  the  harmonic  or  over-tones. 
We  cannot  alter  the  shape  of  the  roof  of  the  mouth,  but  we  can. 
change  the  shape  of  its  flooring,  the  tongue,  and  its  portals,  the 
lips ;  we  can  reflect  the  sound  produced  by  our  vocal  chords 
from  the  back  part  of  the  mouth,  where  the  vibrations  hit 
against  the  soft  palate,  and  become  flat  and  muffled,  or  from 
the  extreme  front  of  the  mouth,  where  they  strike  the  back 
part  of  the  teeth,  and  become  sharp  and  thin,  or  from  the 
rounded  centre  of  the  roof  itself,  which  Nature  intended  as  a 
sounding-board,  when  they  become  clear,  full,  and  resonant. 
If  we  let  the  tongue  lie  back  too  far,  the  vibrations  are  dis- 
turbed, and  we  get  a  harsh  noise  instead  of  a  pleasant  sound. 
Noise  is  a  sound  so  complicated  that  the  ear  is  unable  to  ana- 
lyze it ;  that  is,  the  vibrations  are  so  irregular  that  harmony  is 
impossible. 

This  shows  the  importance  of  the  proper  adjustment  of  our* 
sounding-board,  a  thing  to  which  most  teachers  pay  little  at- 
tention. 

All  the  air-passages  above  the  larynx,  the  pharynx,  mouth, 
nose,  and  even  the  cells  in  the  frontal  bone,  form  part  of  this 
sounding-board,  or  resonance-tube  ;  but,  if  we  properly  control 
the  movements  of  the  tongue,  the  other  parts  will  take  care  of 
themselves.  This  power  over  the  tongue,  which  enables  us  to 
take  the  form  of  a  and  hold  it  as  long  as  we  like,  can  only  be 
acquired  by  practice  before  a  mirror,  until  the  muscles  learn 
their  lesson,  which  is  retained  as  a  muscular  memory. 

Having  investigated  the  nature  of  our  musical  instrument, 


152  ACTIXG   AXD    ORATORY. 

which  is  scientifically  defined  as  "a  pair  of  membranous,  free 
reeds,  with  a  prefixed  tube  and  complex,  affixed  resonance- 
tube."  we  are  better  able  to  study  the  conditions  of  its  develop- 
ment. The  very  first  thing  necessary  is  to  look  well  to  the  bel- 
lows of  our  organ.  The  finest  voice  in  the  world  can  do  noth- 
ing without  air,  and  the  proper  management  of  the  breath  is 
the  first  thing  to  be  learned  by  either  speaker  or  singer.  The 
only  essential  difference  between  the  two  is,  that  the  former 
rarely  uses  more  than  five  notes,  while  the  latter  may  range  over 
three  octaves.  To  breathe  well,  and  to  breathe  inaudibly,  is 
the  first  thing  we  have  to  learn.  The  secret  of  breathing  well 
is  to  take  in  plenty  of  breath,  and  expend  as  little  as  possible, 
always  replenishing  our  treasury  before  it  is  exhausted.  In 
order  to  breathe  deeply,  we  must  raise  the  lower  ribs,  and  keep 
them  raised,  that  the  lungs  may  have  full  play.  It  is  this  habit 
that  gives  singers  such  breadth  across  the  lower  part  of  the- 
chest.  In  order  to  breathe  inaudibly,  we  have  but  to  remem- 
ber that  we  have  no  need  to  pump  in  our  breath  by  a  series  of 
gasps  ;  we  have  only  to  open  the  doors,  and  the  air  rushes  in  of 
itself.  The  reader  who  draws  his  breath  by  a  muscular  effort 
exhausts  himself  in  that  effort,  and  exhausts  his  hearers  by  his 
own  appearance  of  fatigue.  Talma  declared  that  all  these  rules 
reduced  themselves  to  this  :  "  Tout  artiste  qui  se  fatigue  est  un 
artiste  mediocre"  He  founded  the  assertion  upon  his  own  ex- 
perience. One  of  his  earliest  efforts  was  in  the  i%'Peiv  de 
Famille  "  of  Diderot,  wherein,  after  a  certain  tirade,  he  invari- 
ably used  himself  all  up.  and  had  to  lean  against  the  wings, 
panting  like  an  overdriven  horse.  His  master  endeavored  in 
vain  to  teach  him  better,  but  one  day  Talma  saw  Dorival  play 
in  "Zaire."  "How  does  the  wretch  do  it?"  said  Talma  to 
himself;  "I  am  ten  times  stronger  than  he,  but  he  get.-  ten 
times  less  tired  than  I  do."  He  asked  Dorival.  but  was  repulsed 
with  the  sweet  answer,  "You  are  so  successful,  M.  Talma,  that 
you  have'no  need  of  lessons."  "I  will  force  you  to  give  them 
me."  muttered  Talma  to  himself.  The  next  time  Dorival  played 
in  "  Zaire,"  Talma  hid  himself  in  the  back  of  the  prompters 
box,  whence  he  could  watch  every  motion  without  being  seen, 
ami.  after  the  famous  tirade  in  the  second  act,  he  went  out, 


VOICE   TRAINING.  153 

crying,  "  I've  got  it !  "  He  had  found  that  Dorival's  power  lay 
in  his  skillful  respiration.  He  always  took  afresh  breath  before 
his  Inngs  were  quite  empty,  and,  in  order  to  render  his  respira- 
tions inaudible,  he  took  them  before  the  open  vowels — that  is, 
when  his  mouth  was  already  opened  for  certain  sounds.  The- 
rules  of  breathing  are  the  only  rules  in  reading  that  we  are  never 
permitted  to  break.  And  if  there  is  one  thing  more  important 
than  inspiration,  it  is  expiration.  Never  allow  more  breath  to- 
escape  than  is  absolutely  necessary  for  the  effect  desired. 
Never  expend  force  uselessly.  We  can  breathe  best  standing,  or 
sitting  erect  in  a  high  chair.  Any  position  which  compresses 
the  lungs  interferes  with  their  expansion. 

Having  learned  how  to  take  breath,  we  have  to  learn  when 
to  take  breath — a  matter  not  wholly  summed  up  in  the  rule, 
"Breathe  always  before  the  lungs  are  empty,"  but  depends  par- 
tially on  more  aesthetic*  considerations,  upon  the  character  and 
sentiment  of  what  one  has  to  read.  The  general  suggestion  may 
be  given,  always  take  advantage  of  a  pause,  whether  you  need 
breath  at  the  moment  or  not. 

The  best  tones  in  a  person's  voice  are  always  the  easiest  for 
him  to  use,  because  they  are  the  result  of  the  most  natural  and 
harmonious  adjustment  of  the  vocal  organs.  One  should  find 
out  the  pleasantest  tones  of  his  voice  and  keep  within  their  range. 
If  he  reads  or  talks  on  a  different  key,  he  should  change- 
the  pitch  at  once  and  make  the  true  tones  the  habitual  ones. 

It  is  not  enough  to  pitch  the  voice  ;  we  must  know  how  to- 
reflect  it,  in  order  to  bring  out  all  its  best  characteristics,  the 
greatest  amount  of  sweetness  and  resonant  power  of  which  it  is 
capable.  It  is  only  through  intelligently-directed  mechanical 
movements  that  an  aesthetic  result  is .  possible.  To  begin  as 
most  teachers  of  the  voice  do,  is  like  trying  to  teach  the  minuet 
to  a  child  that  has  not  fairly  learned  to  walk.  Having  acquired 
perfect  comprehension  and  control  of  the  mechanism  of  the 
voice,  we  are  then  in  a  fit  condition  to  use  this  wonderful  organ 
to  the  best  advantage.  For  the  art  of  reading  no  regular  set  of 
rules  can  be  given.  It  is  a  question  of  intelligence  and  sympa- 
thy. Seek  first  to  understand  perfectly  the  meaning  of  your 


154:  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

author,  and  then  try  to  express  it  in  the  simplest  possible 
manner. 

As  to  the  reading  of  verse,  there  has  always  been  a  dispute 
among  readers  as  to  whether  its  form  should  be  emphasized  or 
obliterated — whether  we  should  mark  the  rhythm  or  disguise  it. 
In  this,  as  in  most  things,  we  shall  find  the  middle  course  the 
safest.  Keep  as  far  as  possible  from  sing-song,  but  preserve 
that  melody  which  is  the  lovely  prerogative  of  verse.  Three 
absolute  maxims  :  "  1.  The  art  of  reading  is  never  so  difficult 
or  so  necessary  as  when  it  is  applied  to  poetry,  and  only  long 
study  will  enable  one  to  master  it ;  2.  Verse  is  to  be  read  as 
verse,  and  the  poets  are  to  be  interpreted  in  a  poetic  spirit ; 
3.  Their  interpreter  becomes  their  confidant  and  they  reveal  to 
him  what  they  say  to  no  one  else." 

Each  kind  of  poetry  needs  a  special  manner  of  interpretation. 
The  final  grace  in  singing  and  in  reading*  is  the  coloring  of  the 
voice.  But  it  is  not  until  we  have  mastered  the  mechanism  of 
an  instrument  that  we  can  be  taught  the  graces  of  expression  ; 
the  exercise  of  the  voice  is  the  most  salutary  of  all  gymnastics. 
To  strengthen  the  voice  is  to  strengthen  the  whole  organism. 
"\Ye  lessen  our  risks  of  taking  cold,  we  widen  the  chest,  we  in- 
crease the  breathing-power  of  the  lungs,  we  supply  more  oxygen 
to  the  blood,  we  replenish  our  stock  of  vital  energy.  '•'  To  sing 
well,  is  to  be  well  ; "  and  the  real  difference  between  singing  and 
reading  is  merely  an  affair  of  the  number  of  notes  employed. 

What  is  required  is  time  and  effort.  Many  calculations  and 
reasonings,  and  much  science  preside  over  the  choice  of  each 
inflection  and  accent. 

Mile.  Mars,  one  day,  at  rehearsal,  was  a  little  tired  and  pre- 
occupied. In  the  second  act  a  scene  required  much  energy  ; 
and  she  repeated  it  without  giving  out  her  voice,  and  no  action; 
yet  all  the  effect,  and  the  intention,  were  expressed.  It  was  as 
a  picture  seen  at  a  distance.  It  was  a  revelation  to  the  rest ; 
and  showed  upon  what  a  fixed  basis  the  art  supported  itself ; 
since  a  great  artist  could  rid  herself  of  her  personality  without 
losing  proportion  or  uniformity  of  relief. 

The  art  rests  on  the  physical  voice,  and  the  spiritual — 
thought.  The  technical  bears  upon  the  sound  and  the  words. 


VOICE   TRAINING.  155 

As  soon  as  the  eyes  open  you  behold  the  light ;  as  soon  as  the 
ears  open  you  hear  sound.  You  hear  and  see  against  your 
will.  Man  speaks  only  when  he  wishes.  You  cannot  see  or 
hear  more  or  less  ;  but  with  the  voice  you  can  speak  more  or 
less  loud,  or  more  or  less  fast ;  you  can  regulate  speech.  We 
cannot  learn  to  see  or  hear,  but  we  can  learn  to  speak  at  will. 

There  are  three  kinds  of  voice.  The  most  solid,  supple, 
and  natural  is  the  medium,  which  imparts  expression  to  all  the 
sentiments  most  natural  and  true.  The  low  notes  have  greater 
power,  the  high  greater  brilliancy,  but  they  must  be  properly 
employed.  The  rule  is  to  give  supremacy  to  the  medium  ;  the 
high  notes  are  more  fragile  and  delicate,  and  if  used  too  much, 
they  will  become  discordant  and  yourself  entirely  spoiled.  The 
abuse  of  them  influences  the  thoughts.  The  abuse  of  the  low 
notes  is  not  less  injurious  ;  it  produces  monotony  ;  gives  a  tar- 
nished, dull,  heavy  sound.  Talma,  at  first,  had  this  fault ;  his 
voice  was  sombre,  and  it  was  by  art  that  he  acquired  the  power 
of  its  control. 

Exercise  strengthens  the  weak  voice,  renders  supple  the 
strong  voice,  softens  the  harsh  voice  ;  it  gives  it  body,  brilliancy 
and  grace  ;  not  only  by  vocal  gymnastics  but  a  certain  manner 
of  attacking  the  sounds.  In  the  end  one  has  acquired  notes 
which  he  had  not.  Mme.  Malibran  had  a  voice  of  three 
octaves.  Part  came  of  practice.  After  a  concert  a  friend  ex- 
pressed admiration  of  her  singing  D  sharp.  She  replied, 
*'  Oh,  I  have  searched  enough  for  it.  I  ran  after  it  a  month  ! 
I  pursued  it  everywhere  !  In  arranging  my  hair  !  In  dressing! 
and  I  found  it  one  morning  in  the  bottom  of  my  shoe  !  " 

Art  not  only  aids  in  governing,  but  in  extending  our 
powers. 

To  breathe  properly  is  one  of  the  rarest  talents  in  reading. 
One  can  give  only  what  one  possesses.  To  give  much  is  to 
possess  much.  The  little  magazine  of  air  which  is  used  for 
ordinary  and  insensible  respiration  does  not  suffice  when  an 
energetic  action  of  speaking  is  demanded.  It  is  necessary  then 
to  establish  an  equilibrium  between  our  doit  et  avoir!  It  is 
necessary  to  make  an  appeal  to  the  breath.  By  inhaling  we  ac- 
quire ;  by  exhaling  we  dispense.  These  are  two  different  acts. 


156  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

It  should  be  from  the  base  of  the  lungs.  If  from  the  up  pel- 
parts  it  is  too  small  an  amount  and  one  is  soon  exhausted. 
Breathing  plays  an  immense  r61e  in  reading.  Its  rules  should 
never  be  violated.  The  actor,  in  vehement  passages,  can  for- 
.get  punctuation  at  will,  but,  he  must  always  be  master  of 
his  breath.  He  has  the  right  to  pant  only  as  an  effect  of  the  art. 

Speakers  have  more  need  of  this  than  actors,  on  account  of 
the  continuity  of  speech.  The  actor  has  intervals  in  which  to 
rest,  while  others  are  speaking,  and  at  changes  of  scenes.  The 
speaker  often  continues  for  hours,  which  draws  from  the  strength 
of  his  voice.  He  must  learn  the  means  of  conducting  his  speech 
without  fatigue. 

The  great  Delle  Sedie  could  execute  the  gamut  ascending 
and  descending,  without  moving  the  flame  of  a  candle  held  to 
his  mouth.  He  simply  allowed  sufficient  air  for  the  utterance 
of  the  note  ;  sufficient  power  of  air  to  reduce  it  to  sound. 

Articulation  also  plays  a  highly  important  part.  It  is  articu- 
lation alone,  that  gives  clearness,  energy,  passion,  and  vehe- 
mence. Such  is  its  power  that  it  can  redeem  feebleness  itself, 
even  in  a  large  space.  There  have  been  great  actors  who  had 
meagre  voices.  The  famous  Monvel  had  no  voice  ;  not  even 
teeth,  and  not  only  was  not  one  of  his  words  lost,  but  never 
was  an  artist  more  pathetic  or  more  carried  away  by  grace  of 
articulation. 

Choice  organizations,  those  endowed  with  exceptional  quali- 
ties, know  that  by  work  their  rich  natures  will  bear  double 
harvest.  Others,  without  arriving  at  the  first  rank,  approach 
it  by  many  more  degrees,  by  cultivation. 

We  must  read  as  we  speak.  But  on  one  condition :  it  is 
when  we  speak  well.  Conversation  admits  and  also  demands  a 
certain  negligence  in  pronunciation,  a  freedom  of  utterance. 
Spontaneous  inaccuracies  have  a  grace  when  we  talk  ;  but  are 
defects  in  reading.  To  talk  as  we  read  would  be  pedantic  ;  to- 
read  as  one  talks  would  often  be  a  vulgarity.  Art  is  art,  and 
speaking  is  speaking,  and  the  rules  are  not  those  of  conversa- 
tion. There  is  in  talking  a  variety  of  inflections  and  a  natural 
grace  of  delivery  which  is  useful  in  reading,  but  one  must  not 
borrow  these  and  rest  upon  them  as  being  correct. 


VOICE   TRAILING.  157 

We  cannot  learn  to  speak  from  conversation.  The  study  of 
elocution  and  the  exercise  of  the  voice  are  more  efficacious. 

At  the  play  nothing  makes  it  seem  so  long  as  rapid  utter- 
ance, as  if  one  were  anxious  to  hurry  over  passages.  Nothing 
commands  silence  sooner  than  a  slow,  deep  utterance ;  people 
quiet  themselves  to  listen.  One  cannot  master  the  public  until 
he  controls  himself,  until  he  has  mastered  his  voice.  You  should 
listen  to  your  voice  as  one  watches  another's  countenance.  You 
should  search  for  the  correct  accentuation  as  you  would  for  a 
sincere  soul.  Above  all.  study  children. 

A  skilful  reader  is  also  a  skilful  critic  ;  for  reading  must  ex- 
press the  exact  ideas  and  beauties  of  an  author's  mind  ;  and  in 
order  to  interpret  them  properly,  it  is  necessary  to  understand 
them. 

Reading  aloud  gives  the  power  of  analyzing  more  than  by 
silent  reading. 

Says  Legouve  :  "  Eacine's  comparison  of  the  French  theatre 
before  the  time  of  Corneille  and  after,  is  a  remarkable  passage. 
I  had  often  silently  read  and  admired  it ;  but  one  day  in  trying 
to  read  it  aloud  I  found  great  difficulty,  which  set  me  to  think- 
ing. The  second  part  appeared  dull  and  almost  impossible  to 
express.  This  has  some  seventeen  lines,  and  all  but  one  period. 
Not  a  full  stop  ;  not  even  colons  !  nothing  but  commas,  with 
intertwinings  of  incidents  succeeding  and  repeating  themselves 
at  every  turn,  and  prolonging  themselves  when  seemingly  fin- 
ished and  forcing  you  to  keep  following  on  interminably.  I 
came  to  the  end  out  of  breath,  and  I  asked  myself,  why  Eacine 
had  written  so  long  a  period,  so  laboriously  proscribed  ?  I 
turned  to  the  first  part  and  found  it  a  complete  contrast.  Ex- 
cl.'fmation  points  everywhere,  not  a  verb  ;  a  disjointed  style — all 
in  fragments.  I  uttered  an  exclamation  of  joy.  I  saw  clearly. 
Wishing  to  illustrate  the  two  styles,  Eacine  had  more  than  told 
it,  he  had  painted  it  in  his  own  language.  To  show  what  he 
called  the  chaos  of  a  dramatic  poem,  he  had  employed  a  violent 
style,  without  art,  without  transition.  In  order  to  produce  a 
sensible  image  of  the  theatre,  such  as  it  was  at  the  time  of  Cor- 
neille's  creations,  he  imagined  a  long  period,  where  all  is  bound 


158  ACTING  AND    ORATOR1'. 

together  and  held  firmly;  where  all  is  harmoniously  united, 
similar  in  short,  in  its  laborious  work,  to  the  tragedies  of  the 
author  of  Rodogune  and  Polyeucte  ;  which  in  the  wise  combi- 
nations and  situations  of  characters,  we  know  is  so  pleasing. 

This  passage  is  quite  changed  when  read  aloud.  The 
thoughts  then  appear  visible.  It  offers  obstacles  which  make 
it  a  lesson  in  itself.  There  is  hardly  anything  more  difficult 
and  more  beneficial  than  conducting  the  voice  to  the  end  of  this 
terrible  period  of  seventeen  lines  without  actually  stopping,  and 
without  getting  tired  and  feeling  that  it  is  finished,  and  letting 
it  unroll  itself  in  all  its  amplitude  and  all  its  majestic  variety. 

The  eye  glancing  over  the  page,  takes  a  glance  at  the  dan- 
gerous places  of  long  and  tedious  phrases  ;  but  the  ear  hears  all. 

In  reading  silently  certain  words  have  been  passed  over,  but 
when  read  aloud  and  they  suddenly  strike  the  ear,  the  propor- 
tions then  seem  enormous. 

There  is  between  the  speaker  and  those  who  listen  a  current 
which  should  be  mutually  instructive.  The  speaker  in  impart- 
ing ideas  to  others  is  enlightening  his  own  mind.  He  hears  the 
murmurs  or  sighs  of  an  audience  and  even  their  silence  instructs 
him  ;  he  sees  their  looks,  he  foresees  passages  that  will  affect — 
before  he  comes  to  them.  The  abilities  awakened  and  put  in 
motion  by  the  formidable  contact  with  the  public,  approach  a 
kind  of  divination. 

Style  is  only  the  method  and  the  emotion  we  put  in  our 
thoughts.  This  is  one  of  the  fundamental  rules  of  the  art. 
When  oire  commences  to  study  a  part  or  a  subject,  he  should 
first  find  the  method  to  determine  the  emotion,  which  is  method 
animated.  He  should  find  the  grand  outlines ;  for  without  so 
doing  he  cannot  penetrate  into  the  mysteries  of  language. 

M.  Baucher  surpassed  every  one  in  good  horsemanship  in  a 
riding  room.  Nothing  is  more  interesting  than  to  see  a  horse 
rode,  it  is  said,  and  controlled  by  M.  Baucher.  What  powerful 
sway  of  man  over  beast  !  Trembling,  stately  but  controlled, 
this  horse  had  not  a  muscle  which  was  not  pliant ;  the  foam 
which  covered  him,  his  nostrils  which  opened  and  closed,  pal- 
pitatingly, the  swollen  veins  which  were  visible  on  his  body, 


VOICE   TRAINING. 

all  betrayed  his  strength  and  his  feverish  impatience.  It  was 
requisite  that  every  one  of  his  movements  should  be  in  rhythm, 
that  every  step  should  be  submissive  and  held  in  the  immovable 
circle  by  a  master's  two  legs  of  iron  ;  his  energy  itself  was  under 
subordination. 

M.  d'Aure,  on  the  contrary,  excelled  in  horsemanship  in  the 
open  air.  "What  a  difference  !  That  which  was  requisite  to  him 
was  plenty  of  room  ;  that  which  he  asked  of  his  horse  was  the 
displaying  of  all  his  energy  ;  he  does  not  hold  him  back,  he 
does  not  restrain  him,  he  gives  him  the  bridle,  and  to  see  them 
thus  pass,  his  hair  and  the  horse's  mane  flying  in  the  wind,  eye 
on  fire,  devouring  the  road,  leaping  hedges  and  ditches,  we  should 
try  to  believe  that  there  is  but  one  master  there,  and  that  mas- 
ter is  the  horse.  Nevertheless  this  master  has  a  guide,  the  hand 
that  urges  it  is  at  the  same  time  the  hand  that  directs  it ;  it  is 
true  his  rider  lets  him  take  the  initiative,  finds  pleasure  in  bind- 
ing himself  to  all  his  movements,  but  without  ever  abandoning 
the  rein  which  guides  him,  nor  the  curb  which  can  restrain 
him,  and  whereas  the  horse  of  M.  Baucher  is  always  powerful 
although  confined,  that  of  M."  d'Aure  is  always  submissive 
although  independent.  Such  are  two  kinds  of  acting. 

Madame  Talma  once  represented  Andromache  and  was  so 
deeply  agitated  that  tears  ran  not  only  from  the  eyes  of  the 
spectators  but  from  her  own.  After  the  tragedy  one  of  her 
friends  said ;  "  Oh  !  it  was  admirable  !  You  must  have  im- 
agined yourself  the  wife  of  Hector  !  "  "II"  she  replied  laugh- 
ing, "not  the  least  in  the  world!"  "Well,  you  were  truly 
moved,  because  you  wept."  "  Yes,  I  was  weeping."  "What 
made  you  weep  ?"  "My  voice!  It  was  the  expression  that 
my  voice  gave  to  the  sorrows  of  Andromique  ;  that  moved  me, 
not  the  sorrows  of  Andromique.  The  cold  nervous  sensations 
which  coursed  through  my  body,  was  the  electric  vibrations  of 
my  nerves  by  my  own  accents.  I  was  at  the  same  time  both 
actress  and  auditress  ;  I  magnetized  myself." 

A  great  actor  has  often  said  that  this  power  which  acts  so 
deeply  upon  an  audience,  comes  to  him  when  he  repeats  his 
roles  in  full  voice  in  private.  It  is  his  voice  which  electrifies 
and  guides  him. 


160  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

There  are  actors  also  personally  devoid  of  spirit,  but  whose 
playing  is  spirituelle.  Even  ordinary  interpreters  of  intelligence 
and  feeling,  will  make  people  weep  and  set  them  to  thinking. 
It  is  because  their  voice  is  intelligible,  emulative  and  spirituelle 
to  them.  When  silent  they  return  again  to  their  nullity.  The 
voice  is  an  invisible  actor,  a  mysterious  speaker. 

There  are  in  the  works  of  certain  authors  mysterious  parts, 
in  morions  even  to  themselves.  They  put  them  there  by  in- 
stinct, in  the  fire  of  creating  them,  ideas  which  they  cannot  them- 
selves give  an  account  of,  but  which  are  none  the  less  real. 
•Genius  has  her  unconsciousness,  like  beauty,  like  childhood.  A 
•child  enchants  by  the  simplicity  of  its  smile  ;  it  does  not  know 
that  its  smile  is  artless. 

Now  one  of  the  substantial  advantages  of  loud  reading  is  to 
reveal  precisely,  in  master-pieces  of  genius,  multitudes  of  fea- 
tures and  shades,  unknown  even  to  him  who  has  put  them 
there.  This  makes  reading  a  powerful  instrument  of  education 
to  all. 

I 

Said  Legouve  to  Rachel  after  she  had  played  Adrienne  Le- 
•couvre  :  '•'  My  dear  friend,  you  will  never  play  this  fifth  act  in 
your  life  as  you  have  just  played  it."  "I  believe  so,"  she  said, 
'•'  and  do  you  know  why  ?"  "Yes  !  because  no  one  applauded 
there  and  you  did  not  think  of  the  effect  it  produced.  Thus 
you  became  in  your  own  eyes,  the  poor,  dying  Adrienne,  in  the 
the  middle  of  the  night  in  the  arms  of  two  friends."  She  re- 
mained silent  a  moment  and  then  replied  ;  "You  are  not  right. 
There  passed  within  me  a  very  strange  impression.  It  was  not 
for  Adrienne  that  I  cried  ;  it  was  for  myself.  Something  told 
me  that  I  would  die  young  like  her  ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  was  seized  with  death, — and  when  at  the  lines,  '  Adieu,  tri- 
umphs of  the  theatre  !  adieu,  intoxication  of  an  art  which  I  have 
so  much  loved,' — you  saw  me  shed  tears  in  reality,  and  it  was 
because  I  thought  in  despair  that  time  will  efface  all  trace  of 
that  which  has  been  my  talent,  and  that  soon  there  will  be 
nothing  of  that  which  was  once  Rachel." 

Nothing  is  more  difficult  than  to  decipher  at  first  sight  a 


ACTING  (SAMSON).  161 

piece  of  poetry ;  it  is  a  very  complicated  operation.  The  eyes, 
the  intelligence  and  the  voice  are  all  in  the  state  of  an  impro- 
visatore.  The  eyes  read  at  once  the  line,  they  peruse  it,  and  the 
one  that  follows.  The  intelligence  divines  at  once  the  passage, 
its  progress,  its  character,  plainly  at  the  beginning.  The  voice 
immediately  produces  the  sounds  that  reply  to  the  words  and 
measure,  which  the  intelligence  and  the  eyes  convey  to  the 
reader. 

The  difficulty  is  a  real  one,  and  it  requires  a  rapidity  of  con- 
ception, a  pliancy  of  voice,  a  vivacity  of  perception,  which  is 
acquired  only  by  long  previous  practice. 

It  now  and  then  happens  that  the  reader  is  electrified  by 
unforeseen  beauties,  which  suddenly  spring  up  one  by  one,  before 
him.  and  surprises  the  hearer,  as  he  surprises  himself,  in  this 
impromptu  interpretation  ;  as  he  instantly  finds  the  emphasis, 
with  a  daring  and  felicity  that  is  not  known  to  the  reader  the 
most  skilfully  prepared.  This  does  occasionally  occur. 

Acting  (Samson). 

To  be  the  interpreter  of  the  poet,  the  actor,  like  him,  must 
burn  with  the  sacred  fire. 

Whoever  wishes  to  risk  the  dangers  of  the  stage  should  con- 
fide but  in  the  supreme  master — nature. 

A  pedant  speaks  of  warmth  in  a  freezing  tone.  This  gift 
"which  comes  from  heaven  the  artist  envies. 

The  value  of  a  terrible  or  tender  sentiment  is  often  doubled 
by  giving  it  weight,  in  delaying — and  that,  often  when,  too 
slowly  uttered,  loses  character  and  effect. 

An  experienced  actor  can  tell  secrets  of  his  art  to  a  novice, 
that  he  would  little  suspect,  as  to  the  labor  and  detail  in  study- 
ing parts. 

Youth  must  be  instructed  in  a  loving  way — that  will  check 
ihis  pride  and  rebuke  his  laziness. 

It  is  rash  in  one  to  expect  success  from  his  inspiration,  and 
to  be  persuaded  that  talent  will  descend  from  heaven  by  the 
simple  asking.  He  that  disdains  lessons,  labor  and  art,  and 
takes  the  risk,  trusting  in  his  talents  alone,  scarcely  appears 


162  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

but  what  he  is  weighed  down  by  fear  and  confusion  ;  and  failure 
seems  inevitable. 

An  actor  does  not  take  up  his  part  in  taking  up  his  costume, 
depending  on  the  heat  of  the  moment.  He  masters  the  part  in 
its  slightest  details  ;  but  his  study  must  not  appear  to  the  public 
as  if  havino-  had  his  labor  over  it.  He  must  know  how  to  con- 

O 

ceal  the  trace  of  his  efforts.  The  words  which  have  been  re- 
peated a  thousand  times  must  come  from  his  mouth  with  ease 
and  facility. 

The  imprudent  and  lazy  actor  waits  for  inspiration  and  de- 
pends not  on  study. 

The  actor  who  wishes  to  attain  the  heights  of  his  art  should 
keep  a  cool,  clear  head  while  he  gives  up  his  heart.  He  should 
add  to  the  effects,  which  he  has  prepared  long  before,  tones  and 
movements  inspired  by  the  scene. 

Give  to  your  mind  noble  habits — study  history,  poetry, 
painting,  music. 

How  can  an  illiterate  actor  produce  a  literary  character  ? 

Keason  proclaims,  and  examples  attest,  that  a  too  hasty 
debut  proves  fatal.  Check  the  promptings  of  a  bold  pride  ;  und 
delay,  in  order  to  make  success  the  more  certain. 

Sometimes  the  public  raves  over  an  actor  ;  and  his  unreg- 
ulated passion,  and  his  proud  demeanor,  which  surprise  and 
disgust  men  of  taste,  obtains  from  the  mass  unbridled  applause. 
These  stupid  triumphs  should  not  be  envied  ;  but  reason  and  art 
be  our  guides.  Art  is  but  the  natural  converted  into  doctrine. 

Sometimes  a  phrase  slipped  in  accidentally  divides  the 
thought  into  two  parts,  and  the  listener  may  not  be  able  to  per- 
ceive where  the  sense  breaks  off  and  where  it  is  taken  up  again. 
You  must  make  them  understand  this  by  a  change  of  voice, 
but  never  by  a  false  tone,  for  delicate  minds  feel  it  keenly  and 
will  not  permit  a  tone  which  is  but  half  true. 

Learn  to  measure  the  extent  of  your  voice,  so  that  it  may 
extend  to  the  most  distant  places  and,  coming  from  the  chest 
without  effort,  shall  be  neither  too  feeble  nor  too  strong.  Change 
it  skilfully  into  different  tones  that  it  may  come  back  into  the 
medium,  for  there  only,  the  actor  finds  the  natural ;  and  without 
the  medium  the  actor  finds  no  real  talent. 


ACTING  (SAMSON).  163 

Avoid  the  sharp  sounds  thrown  into  the  head — and  which 
used  too  far  are  not  listened  to.  Only  the  medium  pleases, 
touches,  and  inflames,  and  it  alone  reaches  the  soul  through 
the  ear.  In  order  that  the  voice  may  be  able  to  change  to  a 
great  variety  of  tones  it  must  be  made  supple  by  exercise  and 
labor. 

The  voice  which  articulates  distinctly  is  preferable  to  that 
of  a  stentor.  To  speak  distinctly  is  the  first  law. 

Avoid  monotony.  The  finest  speeches  do  not  please  when 
delivered  all  in  one  Ttey. 

The  first  duty  is  to  seem  to  think  and  not  to  know.  The 
thought  should  come  before  the  expression.  The  gesture  and 
the  look  should  announce  it  to  our  eyes,  the  giving  utterance  to 
the  words  is  more  laborious.  Have  a  simple,  frank,  open 
manner  and  know  how  to  contrast  light  and  shade.  Everything 
should  have  a  meaning,  but  everything  is  lost  when  every  word 
is  marked  by  the  same  accent.  Sometimes  the  thought  is  all 
condensed  in  one  word  :  when  this  is  the  case  the  voice  should 
separate  it  from  the  other  words  ;  and  you  must  put  more  nerve 
and  more  expression  into  that  word  in  which  the  sense  is  bound 
up,  so  that  it  may  shine  above  the  phrase  and  illumine  it. 

Sometimes  an  actor  leaves  the  natural  voice  but  does  not 
attain  the  grand.  Do  not  deprive  verse  of  its  natal  aspect. 
Spoken  nobly  and  not  sung,  verse  will  appear  in  all  its  beauty. 
Divine  language  should  be  divinely  given.  Do  not  show  up,  but 
let  it  appear.  Enlarge  the  voice  in  heroic  styles.  The  tragic 
should  unite  the  natural  with  the  grand.  The  tears  of  the 
audience  should  be  poetic. 

Art  is  diverse  ;  be  as  diverse  as  it. 

In  order  that  ease  be  united  to  good  tone  it  is  well  to  be  at 
all  times  in  good  company. 

Distinguish  yourself  above  all  by  a  loyal  talent.  Art  in 
certain  moments  demands  that  the  man  suppress  himself  alto- 
gether for  art's  sake.  All  success  should  be  condemned  which 
is  out  of  place. 

Frequent  movements  and  prodigal  gestures  fatigue  the  eye 
of  the  spectator  and  a  constant  effort  betrays  our  weakness. 
Often  a  look  suffices.  Listen  well  to  the  others  on  the  stage. 


164  ACTING   AND    ORATOL'V. 

Men  of  talcut  have  a  sympathetic  bond  between  them.  Kings 
of  art  love  the  truth. 

Make  the  human  heart  your  supreme  study.  Learn  with 
what  gesture  and  with  what  inflection  every  caprice  and  every 
passion  speaks.  Do  not  give  to  the  anger  of  a  noble  heart  the 
tone  of  a  brutal  fury.  Give  to  love,  numberless  shades,  gentle, 
naive,  tender,  tragic  grace.  There  is  an  egotism  in  all  hearts 
mixed  with  better  feelings.  Give  repose  at  times  to  the  voice, 
but  never  to  the  face,  which  ought,  mobile,  always  flexible,  to 
express  promptly  the  sudden  changing  of  your  feelings.  Those 
silences  which  an  ignorant  actor  ignores  often  eloquently  pave 
the  way  for  the  coming  speech. 

To  play  well  one  must  read  well. 

Know  how  to  accompany  beautiful  verse  by  a  noble  attitude 
and  imposing  gesture. 

You  ought,  upon  the  stage,  in  reading  a  letter,  to  show  the 
sentiments  with  which  it  fills  you  by  a  play  of  the  features  and 
of  inflections  less  faithful  to  the  sense,  than  to  your  impressions. 

We  love  to  have  one  speak  to  our  intelligence.  In  order  to 
make  us  think,  the  actor  must  think  himself. 

Do  not  change  the  style  of  a  part.  Do  not  excite  mirth  by 
nonsense.  It  is  an  outrage  to  truth.  A  comic  actor  should  feel 
his  part  and  not  merely  make  diversion.  Respect  your  author. 

A  studious  actor  does  not  rebel  against  labor  in  such  a  beau- 
tiful art ;  admiration  inspires  him  ;  for  not  to  admire  is  not  to 
understand.  Such  an  artist  alone  can  charm  the  ear  as  he 
rends  the  heart.  He  holds  back  his  tears,  but  his  emotion 
alters  his  voice. 

Samson. 

i 

One  day  Samson,  being  somewhat  fatigued  and  not  wishing 
to  overtax  his  energies,  as  he  had  to  play  an  arduous  role  the 
same  evening,  gave  a  lesson  to  a  lady  pupil  after  the  follow- 
ing manner,  as  noted  by  a  friend  who  was  present.  Samson, 
stretched  out  in  his  arm-chair,  his  eyes  half  closed,  his  hands  in 
the  pockets  of  his  morning  wrapper,  without  moving,  without  a 


SAMSON.  165 

single  gesture,  without  raising  his  voice,  expressed  with  such 
grandeur  all  the  passions  of  the  terrible  Aggripine  in  the  first 
act  of  Brittannicus,  designated  all  the  details  of  her  character  so 
well  as  to  produce  the  effect  of  wonder  and  admiration.  AY  hen 
asked  as  to  how  it  was  possible,  and  how  it  was  done,  he  replied 
smilingly,  "it  is  very  simple,  I  followed  the  advice  of  Talma,  I 
translated  myself." 

It  is  not  the  pomp  or  intensity  of  the  sound,  wherein  the 
grandeur  consists  ;  it  comes  from  the  vibrations  of  the  soul,  of 
which  the  voice  is  the  echo.  It  suffices  to  put  into  the  words 
just  enough  of  sound,  that  they  bear  to  the  ear  of  the  hearer 
the  sentiments  of  the  character  ;  thus  did  Talma  act.  At  times 
when  fatigued  he  lowered  his  voice,  reserved  his  force,  and 
although  the  effect  was  less  strong,  it  was  complete  in  its 
measure. 

Samson  was  indifferent  to  the  science  of  the  mis-en-scene 
and  slightly  mocked  it.  He  cared  little  whether  the  direction 
was  to  the  right  or  left,  and  changed  them  at  pleasure.  He 
believed  acting  and  recitation  as  one  ;  and  often  said  that  the 
actor  was  in  the  mind,  the  voice,  the  heart.  He  allowed  the 
greatest  freedom,  and  felt  that  a  great  dramatic  professor  is  ex- 
pected to  have  many  contradictory  qualities.  The  teacher 
must  have  a  powerful  individuality  and  a  deep  respect  for  other 
individualities  ;  the  power  of  authority  which  imposes  at  the 
same  time  the  hatred  of  blind  obedience,  and  mechanical  imi- 
tation. This  was  the  secret  of  Samson's  method.  Not  a  pupil 
but  what  differed  from  him,  and  differed  from  each  other,  and 
yet  not  one  that  had  not  the  strong  stamp  of  his  style.  It  was 
because  he  was  a  man  as  well  as  a  professor. 

One  day  he  was  teaching  a  pupil,  and  a  friend  called  to 
remind  him  of  a  dinner  he  had  forgotten.  After  the  apology 
for  his  forgetfulness,  and  the  departure  of  the  gentleman,  he 
made  application  of  the  manner  of  his  visitor  to  the  pupil.  He 
stood  for  a  moment,  folded  his  arms,  shook  his  head  and  began 
as  had  his  friend,  and  then  remarked  to  the  pupil  that  gesture 
and  action  precede  and  prepare  the  words  as  he  had  often 
remarked. 

Samson    had    all    disinterestedness,   faith,    and    prophetic 


166  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

ardor.  He  sought  everywhere  for  dramatic  knowledge.  He 
lived  to  make  others  faithful  to  art,  and  opened  his  house,  his 
purse,  his  science  to  every  one  that  brought  to  him  a  hope. 
Such  was  his  goodness  that  he  would  even  act  badly,  when 
acting  with  pupils,  that  they  might  appear  well. 

Great  actors  are  divided  into  two  classes  ;  those  of  intellect 
and  those  of  the  emotions — the  creators,  and  the  virtuosos. 
Talma  united  both  in  himself.  But  sometimes  by  a  strange 
anomaly  the  creative  power  has  no  natural  gifts  ;  like  Le  Kain, 
who  had  a  vulgar  figure,  heavy  voice,  sluggish  gait ;  but  beneath 
this  ungraceful  exterior  was  hidden  such  a  power  of  thought  and 
passion  that  the  inner  character  lighted  up  the  outer.  By  the 
force  of  his  inner  soul  and  by  method  his  rebellious  voice  be- 
came soft,  his  figure  heroic,  and  he  realized  that  a  grand  soul  is 
always  master. 

The  virtuoso,  the  emotional,  acts  at  once  ;  he  appears  ready 
with  natural  gifts  ;  face,  voice,  gesture.  But  often  the  great 
inventive,  creative  power  is  lacking.  Their  talent  of  creation 
does  not  equal  their  power  of  execution.  Le  Kain  was  one  who 
reflected  and  was  inspired,  and  having  learned  by  rules  after- 
wards stood  alone.  Rachel,  on  the  contrary,  always  needed  a 
guide,  in  spite  of  her  powerful  inspiration.  She  was  not  the 
less  grand,  but  differently  so.  She  was  not  a  tragedienne,  but 
tragedy  itself.  She  was  more  natural,  more  human,  more  touch- 
ing, and  just  as  original.  At  sixteen,  before  her  debui,  unedu- 
cated, uncultivated,  and  bringing  to  her  teacher  nothing  but 
ardor  and  instinct,  she  brought  a  scene  in  d'Eryphile  which  she 
had  studied  all  alone,  and  recited  to  him  with  such  energy  of 
emphasis  that  Samson  trembled  and  said,  "  who  has  given  you 
the  idea  of  this  character,  my  child  ?  this  tone  of  bitterness, 
and  constrained  fury?"  "  Eryphile  loves  Achilles  and  she 
sees  that  Achilles  loves  Iphigenia  and  that  makes  her  mad." 
i(  That  is  very  well,  but  tragic  princesses  do  not  get  mad." 
"  Oh,  yes,  they  rage  !"  "  No,  rage  is  not  the  word, — but  here 
is  a  lesson  for  you.  Listen  ! "  And  putting  her  chin  on  her 
hands  she  looked  deeply  into  the  eyes  of  her  teacher.  "You 
see,  my  child,  in  order  to  play  tragedy  well,  two  things  are 
necessary,  truth  and  grandeur.  It  is  well  to  commence  by 


SAMSON.  167 

changing  tragic  sentiment  into  common  language  so  as  to  give 
them  the  accent  of  truth  ;  having  found  that,  raise  it  before 
changing  back  to  verse,  to  dignity  ;  and  you  will  thus  have  the 
truth  of  the  sentiment,  and  the  beauty  of  sound.  Do  vou 
understand?"  "Not  yet.  but  I  shall  this  evening,  to-night." 
Such  was  the  pupil  of  sixteen  in  her  naive  and  passionate 
docility. 

In  her  full  glory  how  full  of  admiration  and  gratitude  for 
her  master  !  She  was  now  twenty-six  years  old  and  had  quar- 
reled with  Samson.  One  of  her  friends  found  her  bathed  in 
tears.  She  exclaimed,  "  I  have  lost  everything  in  losing  Sam- 
son !  I  shall  die  !  I  shall  have  to  leave  the  stage  !  I  can  do 
nothing  without  him  ! "  "  Your  genius,"  replied  the  friend. 
"  My  genius  !  yes,  my  genius  !  .  .  .  Yes,  I  feel  that  I  was  born  to 
rise  high,  but  I  cannot  rise  by  myself.  I  find  enough  isolated 
effects,  words  of  passion,  accents  of  truth,  but  the  "  ensemble  " 
of  a  part  frightens  me.  Mons.  Samson  with  his  luminous  mind 
guided  me,  he  gave  ideas  to  me  that  brought  forth  other  ideas  ! 
Far  away  from  him.  I  still  worked  with  him.  I  incessantly  re- 
peated to  myself  what  he  had  told  me,  and  in  the  evening  on 
the  stage  each  of  his  inflections  came  to  me,  and  I  said  them  in 
my  way,  and  as  by  inspiration."  This  explains  that  mysterious 
alliance,  unlike  anything  in  the  history  of  art,  between  the 
teacher  and  the  pupil.  She  had  the  genius  and  knew  the  effect, 
but  understood  not  the  general  design.  Her  ideas  were  only 
completed  when  his  were  superadded.  Nothing  could  be  more 
expressive  and  characteristic  !  This  marvelous,  wonderful 
actress,  but  the  echo  of  her  teacher  !  The  same  course  with 
another  would  not  succeed  so  well.  He  did  not  create,  he 
merely  awakened  her.  He  did  not  give  her  wings,  but  he  gave 
her  power  to  soar.  He  gave  her  development.  She  might  have 
been  great,  but  not  Eachel.  This  was  not  the  only  quarrel  they 
had  had,  but  perhaps  the  most  marked.  Their  friendship  was 
a  continual  thunder-storm.  Their  lives  passed  in  quarrelling 
and  getting  reconciled.  One  might  suppose  they  resulted  from 
her  caprices  and  ingratitude,  but  they  really  came  from  his  side  ; 
it  was  characteristic  of  him.  It  was  generally  because  of  her 
careless  habits  in  exhausting  her  strength  in  various  ways,  and 


168  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

iu-r  talent  suffering  from  these  habits,  enraged  him. ,  It  seemed 
to  him  that  in  not  being  careful  of  her  health  she  did  not  re- 
spect her  £i'n  ius.  Sometimes  he.  was  very  violent,  and  often- 
times comical.  It  was  not  at  times  like  two  lovers  making  up. 
"\Vlien  acting  together  in  the  same  scene,  at  rehearsal,  it  was 
often  intensely  amusing  to  observe  their  manner  of  reconcilia- 
tion. In  one  instance  his  ill-feeling  gave  way  to  tears  !  and  he 
clasped  like  a  father  the  hand  that  was  extended  to  him  in  the 
progress  of  the  scene. 

Talma  and  Acting. 

Nature  seems  to  have  bountifully  endowed  him  with  beauty 
of  voice  and  figure. 

We  find  his  type  sculptured  upon  the  marbles  of  the  Par- 
thenon. 

As  a  man  of  genius,  in  whatever  sphere  it  might  be,  he  al- 
ways attained  the  highest  degree  of  perfection  ;  for  he  joined 
with  venture  daring  enough  to  leave  the  common  path.  He 
seemed  a  model  of  hardiness,  persevering  originality,  and  natu- 
ral dignity.  He  possessed  the  secret  of  many  arts;  his  atti- 
tudes recalled  ancient  statuary  ;  his  attire,  without  his  seeming 
to  be  conscious  of  it,  appeared  as  if  he  had  arranged  it  in  the 
most  perfect  repose.  The  expression  of  his  face  and  his  eyes 
was  a  study  for  painters. 

Where  others  needed  time  to  feel  the  sentiment,  he  grasped 
the  sense  and  emotion  at  once.  There  was  a  magic  in  his  voice, 
the  first  accents  of  which  seized  and  held  the  heart  in  sym- 
pathy. 

With  him  at  times  the  power  of  sorrow  was  more  terribly 
exhibited  under  a  calm  and  dignified  demeanor. 

Sometimes  he  was  so  overwhelmed  ;  and  sometimes  appeared 
more  powerful  than  nature  itself,  in  passions  that  seemed  to 
devour  him. 

In  the  witch  scene  of  Macbeth,  his  voice  was  low  ;  and  he 
placed  his  finger  upon  his  mouth  as  a  statue  of  silence,  while 
he  altered  his  countenance  to  express  a  horrible  repulsive  re- 
membrance ;  all  combined  to  paint  a  wonderful  novelty.  In 


TALMA    ON  ACTING.  169 

Hamlet,  in  "  To  be.  etc,"  he  was  a  man  interrogating  his  own 
thoughts  upon  the  fate  of  mortals. 

In  another  tragedy,  as  Manlius,  he  takes  his  poniard  to  strike 
Servilius  ;  his  hand  seeks  his  heart  and  trembles  in  finding  it ; 
for  the  memory  of  many  years,  during  which  Servilius  was  very 
dear  to  him,  rises  like  a  veil  of  tears  between  his  vengeance  and 
his  friend. 

Every  actor  should  be  his  own  instructor.  If  he  has  not  the 
faculty  to  express  passions  and  paint  characters  all  the  counsels 
of  others  cannot  help  him.  Genius  is  not  to  be  learned ;  the 
faculty  of  creating  is  in  us ;  but  if  the  actor  possesses  it,  the 
advice  of  men  of  taste  can  guide  it. 

The  great  actor  Le  Kain  learned  to  subdue  his  fervor  in  his 
actions  ;  but  did  not  dare  at  first  to  entirely  abandon  the  chant- 
ing style  that  was  at  that  time  regarded  the  beau  ideal  of 
declamation. 

Donee,  like  Le  Kain,  had  the  rare  art  of  penetrating  the  feel- 
ings of  an  audience  ;  and  abandoned  herself  without  rule  and 
without  science  to  all  agitations  of  her  soul,  insensible  to  con- 
ventional beauties,  recoiling  before  the  frigidity  of  cold  calcu- 
lation. 

Talma  on  Acting. 

Actors  should  continually  refer  to  nature  as  a  model ;  she 
should  be  the  constant  object  of  their  study. 

Poetry  only  can  give  grandeur  to  the  majesty  and  beauty  of 
nature,  yet  society  greatly  emulates  the  grander  passions.  Sor- 
row and  passions  attendant  upon  those  that  violently  agitate 
great  interests,  have,  it  is  true,  a  language  more  elevated,  more 
ideal,  yet  this  language  is  still  the  language  of  nature.  It  is 
then  nature  ennobled  and  aggrandized,  but  at  the  same  time 
simple  and  true,  which  must  ever  be  the  constant  effort  of  the 
actor  and  the  author  to  imitate. 

In  the  great  masters  of  painting  is  found  this  same  grandeur 
without  exaggeration.  In  their  best  works  the  most  sublime 
expressions  are  the  most  simple. 

It  is  often  remarked,  even  among  highly  cultivated  people, 


170  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

that  "tragedy  is  not  in  nature."  It  is  only  the  idea  on  their 
part,  repeated  without  reflection.  Men  of  the  world,  occupied  with 
other  objects,  have  not  made  a  deep  study  of  all  the  movements 
that  actuate  men  in  the  grander  passions,  and  they  judge  lightly. 

Authors  and  actors  who  have  paid  but  little  attention  to 
their  art,  have  added  strength  to  this  error ;  and  the  imperfect 
manner  in  which  they  conceive  and  represent  their  art  serves 
little  towards  disabusing  minds  from  so  false  an  idea. 

The  man  of  the  world  and  the  man  of  the  people,  if  placed 
against  each  other  by  their  language,  have  often  in  great  agita- 
tions of  soul,  the  same  expressions ;  the  one  forgets  his  social 
manners,  the  other  quits  his  former  vulgarities  ;  the  one  re-de- 
scends to  nature,  the  other  ascends  to  it;  both  stripped  of  the 
artificial  to  become  truly  men.  The  accents  of  both  are  the 
same  in  violence  or  dignity  ;  in  sorrow  or  happiness.  Suppose 
a  mother  with  eyes  riveted  upon  the  empty  cradle  of  a  loved 
infant  now  lost  to  her  ;  a  kind  of  stupor  in  her  features  ;  tears 
are  rarely  seen  furrowing  her  pallid  cheek  ;  but  broken  sighs, 
convulsive  sobs  rather,  from  time  to  time  signalize  her  anguish. 
The  sorrow  of  the  humble  woman  is  the  same  as  that  of  a 
duchess.  They  have  the  same  expression  in  anger  ;  their  eyes, 
features,  gestures,  attitudes,  and  movements  take  alike  the 
character  of  the  terrible,  the  grand,  the  solemn,  the  dignified 
under  the  painter's  touch  and  the  actors  study.  The  grand 
movements  of  the  soul  elevate  to  the  plane  of  nature  in  both 
ranks.  The  art  of  the  actor  is  in  representing  either  class  to 
be  true  to  nature.  To  do  this  it  is  necessary  for  him  to  have 
a  profound  sensibility.  The  greatest  impressions  produced  by 
actors  is  an  alliance  of  two  faculties ;  sensibility  and  imagina- 
tion ;  the  latter  is  the  source  of  having  seeming  objects  actually 
present.  Both  are  creative,  active,  powerful,  and  assist  in  gath- 
ering in  and  giving  to  fiction  qualities  of  reality;  associating 
the  actor  at  once  with  the  inspiration  of  the  past,  and  transport- 
ing him  to  time  past,  bringing  to  life  historical  personages,  or 
those  passionate  beings  created  by  genius ;  revealing  to  him,  as 
if  by  magic,  their  physiognomy,  their  heroic  stature,  their  lan- 
guage, habits,  all  the  shades  of  their  character,  all  the  actions 
of  their  souls,  and  even  their  peculiarities  of  manner.  This 


TALMA    ON  ACTING.  171 

power  is  sensibility,  the  faculty  of  exaltation,  which  agitates 
the  actor,  seizing  and  capturing  his  feelings  to  the  extent  of 
making  his  whole  being  tremble  with  the  agitations  of  the  soul ; 
and  throwing  him  into  the  most  terrible  passions  which  seem 
as  real  as  if  they  were  his  own. 

Intelligence  which  precedes,  acts  only  after  sensibility  ;  it 
judges  of  impressions,  which  proves  this ;  it  chooses  them  ;  it 
appoints  them  ;  it  submits  them  to  calculation.  If  sensibility 
furnishes  material,  intelligence  performs  the  work  properly ;  it 
aids  and  directs  the  physical  and  intellectual  forces  ;  it  judges 
of  statements  and  connections  between  the  past  and  the  situa- 
tion ;  or  of  the  character  of  personages,  and  sometimes  adds 
shades  that  are  wanting,  thus  more  fully  completing  expression 
and  action. 

It  is  the  nature  and  destiny  of  men  to  portray  their  passions 
in  their  greatest  excess  ;  to  yield  to  all  their  violence  and  to  ex- 
hibit them  in  all  their  delirium.  They  should  have  great  energy 
as  our  emotions  have  an  intimate  connection  with  the  nervous 
system.  It  is  extremely  necessary  that  the  nervous  system  of 
the  actor  should  be  very  mobile  and  impressible  to  the  lightest 
touch. 

"When  nature  has  given  the  actor  exterior  qualities ;  then  by 
the  study  of  master  minds,  with  practice  and  reflection,  he  is 
perfected  in  his  art. 

In  the  choice  of  extreme  sensibility,  and  profound  intelli- 
gence, it  should  be  the  former  without  hesitation.  It  might  be 
subjected  to  modifications,  but  sensibility  which  inspires  sub- 
lime action  ravishes  the  spectator.  Intelligence  renders  one 
coldly-wise  and  regular.  The  one  is  beyond  attention  and 
thought,  the  other  carries  us  along  with  it.  One's  soul  will  be 
profoundly  moved  by  an  inspired  actor ;  and  one's  mind  will  be 
eminently  satisfied  by  the  intelligent  actor.  That  which  car- 
ries us  away  proves  that  it  cannot  take  the  same  liberty  with 
our  judgment.  This,  by  a  philosophic  play,  suffers  you  to  con- 
trol yourself,  and  to  reason  at  your  ease.  The  first  will  be  the 
character,  the  other  the  actor  who  merely  represents  the  char- 
acter. But  the  actor  who  has  the  double  gift,  does  an  especial 


172  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

kind  of  work.  By  repeated  study  he  fits  his  soul  to  the  emo- 
tions, and  gives  to  his  words  the  accents  proper  to  the  situation 
of  the  parts  lie  has  to  enact.  He  goes  to  the  theatre  not  to  de- 
liver the  first  essays  of  his  studies,  but  to  add  all  the  sponta- 
neous flights  of  his  sensibility  which  it  suggests  without  his 
knowledge.  Then,  that  these  inspirations  be  not  lost  in  repose, 
his  memory  seeks  and  recalls  the  intonations  and  accents  of  his- 
voice,  the  expressions  of  his  countenance,  his  gestures,  the  de- 
gree of  abandon  in  which  he  delivered  them,  and  finally,  all 
that  in  moments  of  exaltation  helped  to  produce  those  effects. 

This  is  not  of  a  day.  but  one's  whole  life  should  be  subjected 
to  this  kind  of  work,  for  it  is  generally  only  in  one's  latest  years 
that  he  reaps  the  full  benefit  of  all  his  toil  and  study. 

Though  sensibility  and  intelligence  are  the  principal  facul- 
ties necessary,  stature  and  features  make  a  great  difference  in 
one's  favor.  The  tragedian  and  comedian  need  the  same  facul- 
ties but  the  tragedian  needs  most  power.  With  the  tragedian 
it  is  necessary  to  quit  every-day  life  and  transport  himself  to 
the  poet's  region,  that  he  may  be  able  to  give  lofty  characters 
their  full  proportions,  yet  at  the  same  time  giving  natural  ac- 
cents to  their  elevated  language  ;  intermingling  grandeur  with- 
out bombast,  and  being  true  without  triviality.  Such  types 
may  not  exist  in  society  and  yet  seem  in  many  respects  quite  as 
natural.  Passion  exists  for  all  time.  Society  enfeebles  the 
soul,  but  the  grand  passions  exist  none  the  less  in  its  depths. 

LeKain  would  commence  slowly,  and  animating  himself  by 
degrees  would  raise  himself  to  the  very  pinnacle  of  passion  and 
astonish  all  by  the  sublimity  of  his  performance.  He  had  a 
nice  economy  in  his  action  and  gestures  and  he  regarded  this  as 
a  very  essential  part  of  his  art  ;  for  too  many  movements  de- 
stroy one's  nobleness  of  deportment.  In  him  dignity  seemed 
the  simple  effect  of  habit.  He  did  not  raise  his  voice  to  give  an 
order ;  he  knew  that  men  of  power  do  not  need  effort  to  be 
obeyed,  and  all  his  movements  were  actions  of  a  man  of  au- 
thority. 

Under  certain  circumstances,  where  it  is  necessary  to  collect 


TALMA    ON  ACTING.  173 

one's  thoughts  before  confiding  them  to  words,  where  there  is 
an  intelligent  calculation,  it  is  proper  for  the  actor  to  meditate 
upon  what  he  is  going  to  say,  and  by  the  expression  of  the  face 
to  fill  up  the  pause.  His  features  should  clearly  indicate  in  the 
silence  the  pre-occupation  of  his  soul,  or  the  interval  will  seem 
meaningless,  and  the  fault  be  attributed  to  memory. 

There  are  also  places  where  being  greatly  moved,  he  feels 
with  too  much  force  to  allow  himself  to  await  the  slow  combi- 
nation of  words,  and  the  sentiments  oppress  him  before  he  is  able 
to  express  them,  as  the  lightning  precedes  the  thunderbolt.  This 
reveals  a  soul  so  profoundly  penetrated,  and  impatient  to  mani- 
fest itself,  that  he  chooses  signs  more  rapid.  These  various  ar- 
tifices constitute  what  is  called  silent  acting,  so  essential  and 
so  difficult  to  attain. 

Then  again  there  are  times  where  a  sentiment  has  to  be  in- 
stantly and  forcibly  uttered,  and  the  expression  needed  comes 
easily,  words  follow  as  rapidly  as  thought,  and  the  soul  is  borne 
along  like  a  whirlwind.  Here  the  actor  should  hasten  the  cli- 
max ;  he  should  not  give  the  public  time  to  breathe,  for  taking 
breath  is  a  kind  of  repose,  a  suspension,  however  light,  that 
diminishes  the  warmth  of  the  movement,  and  necessarily  destroys 
the  effect,  because  they  seem  to  participate  with  the  relief  of 
this  repose  of  the  soul.  Passion  does  not  march  with  grammati- 
cal precision ;  it  is  not  always  arrested  at  the  point  required  ; 
ordinarily  it  respects  not  punctuation  ;  it  leaps  it,  and  displaces 
it  agreeably  to  its  own  disordered  condition. 


174  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 


GREAT   ORATORS. 

Demosthenes. — Whatever  may  have  been  the  extent  of  lit- 
erary cultivation  which  he  received  in  his  youth,  it  appears  that 
Demosthenes  did  not  enjoy  the  gymnastic  training  which  formed 
an  equally  essential  part  of  the  early  discipline  of  young  Atheni- 
ans. It  is  supposed  that  his  delicate  constitution,  and  his  moth- 
er's anxiety  for  the  health  of  her  only  son,  prevented  him  from 
joining  in  the  exercises  of  the  palaestra.  His  first  beginnings  in  a 
study  of  rhetoric,  and  his  ambition  to  become  a  public  speaker, 
are  generally  attributed  to  the  fact  that  he  was  taken  by  his  tu- 
tors, while  still  a  boy  of  eight  or  nine  years,  to  hear  the  celebrated 
Callistratus,  the  orator.  But  his  lisping  articulation,  want  of 
muscular  vigor,  and  effeminate  attire  obtained  for  him  the 
name  of  the  "infantine  babbler."  His  success  as  he  advanced 
into  manhood,  by  no  means  guaranteed  his  eminence  as  a  public 
speaker.  He  wrote  many  of  his  speeches  to  be  delivered  by  the 
parties  themselves,  and  it  does  not  appear  that  any  great  merits 
of  elocution  were  expected  in  these  harangues.  They  were  usu- 
ally read.  At  any  rate,  Demosthenes  had  no  natural  advantages 
as  an  orator.  A  feeble  frame  and  a  weak  voice,  a  shy  and  awk- 
ward manner,  ungraceful  gesticulations  and  defective  articula- 
tion would  have  deterred  most  men  from  even  attempting  to 
address  an  Athenian  assembly,  and  as  it  was  he  failed  on  his 
first  attempt.  Besides  he  was  not  fluent  as  an  extempore  speaker, 
and  liable  to  break  down  if  he  spoke  under  novel  circumstances. 
But  ambition  and  perseverance  enabled  him  to  triumph  over 
every  disadvantage.  He  filled  the  minds  of  his  hearers  with  his 
subject,  not  his  oratory.  He  copied  the  eight  books  of  Thucy- 
dides  no  less  than  eight  times,  and  could  almost  recite  him  from 
memory.  He  so  prepared  himself  mentally,  vocally,  and  physi- 
cally, as  to  become  even  by  the  confession  of  his  deadliest  ene- 
mies, the  first  orator  of  Greece. 

In  his  practice  he  would  place  two  pebbles  in  his  mouth  be- 
tween jaw  and  cheek.  His  breathing  was  defective,  his  voice  and 
lungs  weak.  He  strengthened  and  expanded  them  by  running 
up  hill  while  speaking. 


GREAT  ORATORS.  177 

Cicero. — Cicero,  at  the  age  of  twenty-seven,  owing  to  the 
vehemence  of  his  oratory  and  great  constitutional  weakness,  so 
injured  his  voice  that  he  was  strongly  advised  by  his  physicians 
and  nearest  friends,  to  abandon  his  profession.  But  he  refused. 
He  went  to  Greece,  placed  himself  under  the  care,  first  of  At- 
ticus,  then  Demetrius,  and  after  making  a  circuit  round  all 
Asia,  in  company  with  the  most  celebrated  orators,  and  rhetori- 
cians (vocal),  he  returned  at  the  end  of  two  years  quite  an- 
other man. 

Cicero  once  undertook  to  plead  for  a  bad  man  (Ligarius),  an 
•enemy  of  Caesar,  in  Caesar's  presence,  and  he  so  worked  upon  his 
feelings,  that  Caesar  shivered  in  terror  and  amazement  and  let 
the  papers  he  held  drop  from  his  hand,  and  Ligarius  was 
pardoned.  Yet  Caesar  was  himself  an  orator,  and  knew  all  the 
secrets  of  the  art. 

Cicero,  a  conflagration.     Demosthenes,  a  hurricane. 

Gracchus  grew  so  outrageous  in  the  vehemence  of  his  pa- 
thos as  to  need  a  prompter  with  a  pitch-pipe. 

Quintillian  regulated  the  motion  of  every  finger ;  so  per- 
fect the  art. 

Cato  the  Younger. — His  apprehension  was  slow,  and  his 
learning  came  with  difficulty ;  but  what  he  had  once  learned  he 
long  retained. 

His  voice  was  loud  enough  to  be  heard  by  a  large  multitude 
of  people,  and  his  strength  was  such,  that  he  often  spoke  a 
whole  day  without  being  tired.  To  strengthen  his  constitution, 
he  used  the  most  laborious  exercise  ;  he  travelled  on  foot  at  all 
seasons  of  the  year.  In  time  of  sickness,  his  patience  and 
abstinence  were  extraordinary. 

Pericles. — The  philosopher  who  gave  him  that  force  and 
sublimity  of  sentiment  superior  to  all  the  demagogues,  who 
formed  him  to  that  admirable  dignity  of  manners,  was  Anaxa- 
goras  the  Clazomenian.  Instructed  by  him  Pericles  acquired 
not  only  an  elevation  of  sentiment,  and  a  loftiness  and  purity 
of  style,  and  a  gravity  of  manners,  but  a  firm  and  even  tone  of 


178  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

voice,  an  easy  deportment,  and  a  decency  of  dress,  which  no 
vehemence  of  speaking  ever  put  into  disorder. 

St.  Paul. — What  a  magnificent  spirit  was  Paul.  What  regal 
pride,  what  power  !  With  a  great  personal  experience,  feelings 
V.TV  strong,  outspoken,  demonstrative — a  god  of  eloquence. 

Spurgeon. — His  voice,  peculiarly  fine,  sweet  and  powerful, 
enabling  him,  without  apparent  exertion,  to  fill  every  part  of  the 
vast  hall  in  which  he  speaks.  No  great  amount  of  action, 
seems  perfectly  self-possessed,  does  not  shout,  nor  strain  his 
voice  ;  thoroughly  in  earnest,  and  too  much  occupied  to  think 
of  manner. 

Pitt  could  completely  fill  a  room  witli  his  voice  and  at 
times  make  the  effect  even  awful. 

John  Stuart  Mill. — His  father  James  Mill  taught  him, 
not  by  construing  Plato  and"  Demosthenes  sentence  by  sentence, 
but  to  read  them  aloud.  Paid  attention  to  the  elocution  at  the 
same  time.  His  own  excellence  was  remarkable,  and  he  thought 
much  on  the  principles  of  the  art.  The  inflections  and  modula- 
tion were  contrasted  with  the  articulation  and  expression.  This 
was  reduced  to  a  system  of  rules,  and  rounded  on  the  logical 
analysis  of  sentences.  Unfortunately  these  rules  were  un- 
written. 

Webster. — Awful  vastness  of  brain.  Tremendous  store- 
house of  thought.  Ponderous  majesty  of  utterance.  Mighty  ; 
the  greatest  advocate  of  the  country.  King  of  intellects.  A 
huge  Atlas.  Could  have  carried  the  whole  moral  grandeur  of 
the  nation  if  his  own  had  not  been  compromised. 

Mr.  Webster  was  a  model  of  manly  excellence,  of  the  highly 
civilized  type  ;  he  looked  the  gentleman  perfectly.  His  person 
represented  the  highest  style  of  artificial  breeding.  Though 
the  son  of  a  plain  farmer,  he  was,  physically,  the  impersonation 
of  the  form  produced  by  a  descent  from  a  long  line  of  a  con- 
quering, intellectual,  out-of-door  exercising  race.  His  body 
was  strong  and  muscular,  his  chest  full,  his  head  large  and 
firmly  set  upon  his  shoulders.  His  back  was  deeply  indented, 


GREAT   ORATORS.  179 

and  his  most  careless  pose  suggested  pride  of  carriage,  which 
idea  was  confirmed  by  the  natural  elevation  of  his  face.  His 
manners,  nevertheless,  were  singularly  unpretentious,  almost 
child-like.  He  never  strode  into  the  Senate,  but  sauntered  in, 
as  if  personally  unnoticed,  and  himself  without  a  care  or  pur- 
pose. This  manner,  really  so  fascinating,  concealed  all  outward 
show  of  his  passing  thoughts,  or  immediate  intentions.  He  was 
so  conscious  of  his  power,  and  had  all  of  his  mental  resources  so 
well  in  hand,  that  he  was  never  agitated  or  embarrassed.  His 
repartee  in  the  private  parlor,  or  festive  board,  was  as  quick  and 
bright  as  were  his  legal  arguments  in  the  Supreme  Court  unan- 
swerable, or  his  eloquence  in  the  Senate  unsurpassed. 

Before  delivering  a  speech,  he  often  appeared  absent-minded, 
and  acted  as  if  unconscious  of  being  surrounded  by  an  audience. 
Rising  to  his  feet,  he  seemed  to  gradually  recover  perfect  self- 
possession,  by  assuming  a  quiet  manner,  which  was  aided  by 
thrusting  his  right  hand  within  the  folds  of  his  vest,  while  his 
left  hung  gracefully  by  his  side.  A  few  sentences  uttered,  and 
the  clear  tones  of  his  voice,  reaching  his  own  ear,  they  seemed 
to  inspire  him  by  their  musical  sound.  A  moment  more  and 
the  man  was  changed.  His  dark  complexion  grew  warm  with 
inward  fire  ;  his  eyes  would  start  from  their  cavernous  depths, 
and  flash  with  inspiration.  The  huge  brain,  in  its  mighty  work, 
forcing  the  perspiration  in  rivulets  down  the  palpitating  tem- 
ples. There  never  was  a  more  impressive  personal  appearance 
in  the  forum,  or  a  more  magnificent  form  of  human  effort,  en- 
gaged in  giving  utterance  to  the  workings  of  the  mind.  Yet,  in 
these  tremendous  demonstrations  of  intellect,  Mr.  Webster  was 
never  dramatic  in  action.  Even  in  the  utterance  of  his  most 
eloquent  sentences,  his  body  was  in  comparative  quietude — his 
wonderful  eye  alone  burned  and  coruscated ;  in  all  other  re- 
spects, repose  seemed  the  normal  condition  of  his  magnetic 
frame. 

Clay. — Not  from  books — learned  as  he  went ;  quick  percep- 
tion. Fiery,  magnetic  soul.  His  eloquence  was  like  a  wizard's 
wand. 

Lacordaire. — Independence  is  the  best  definition  of  his 


180  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

character.    Independence  implies  the  consciousness  of  sufficiency 
for  one's  self,  and  the  admiration  of  one's  self. 

Character  is  a  man's  moral  power.  It  is  the  effect  produced 
upon  the  wills  of  other  men  by  the  exhibition  of  strength  of 
will  and  tenacity  of  conviction.  A  man  must  have  the  gift  of 
seeing  with  a  sort  of  infallibility  what  is  right  to  do  and  a  mas- 

O  •>  O 

terful  and  overpowering  way  of  carrying  it  through  and  doing  it. 

His  face  was  calm  and  manner  gentle,  but  his  will  was  reso- 
lute. With  him  nothing  had  any  weight  except  the  honest 
truth.  The  man  who  possesses  a  splendid  intuition  of  lofty 
moral  truth  has  one  of  the  noblest  forms  of  genius  that  this 
world  can  boast ;  his  genius  is  familiar  with  speculation,  but  it 
burns  with  the  fire  of  action  ;  it  is  a  human  and  natural  endow- 
ment, but  of  all  natural  things  it  seems  to  give  itself  up  most 
easily  to  the  transmutations  of  supernatural  grace.  It  seizes 
with  a  keen  grasp  the  ideas  of  truth,  the  problems  of  human 
nature  with  their  solutions,  and  has  short  processes  of  dialectics 
known  to  itself  alone ;  while  at  the  same  time  it  is  endowed 
with  that  sovereign  gift  which  Plato  calls  synopsis,  and  finds 
cause  and  effect,  system,  relation,  beauty,  and  harmony,  where 
ordinary  minds  see  nothing  but  the  hard  facts  of  life  and  the 
narrow  horizon  of  the  present  hour.  Kaised  up  above  the  • 
world  by  a  mysterious  privilege,  it  can  look  beyond  the  phe- 
nomenal, the  limited,  the  local  and  the  temporal,  and  appreci- 
ate the  far-off  presence  of  the  absolute,  the  eternal,  the  immu- 
table, and  the  infinite. 

He  clung  to  solitude  and  his  taciturnity  with  an  ardor  that 
seems  almost  exaggeration.  "  Solitude  is  my  element,  my  life. 
Nothing  can  be  done  without  solitude.  The  heart  loses  when  it 
pours  itself  out  too  often,  it  is  like  a  plant  pulled  up.  A  man 
makes  himself  within  himself,  not  outside  himself." 

He  was  energetic,  and  naturally  even  passionate  ;  but  he 
could  control  his  abounding  vitality  in  perfect  submission  to 
his  intellectual  will. 

His  first  effort  was  a  complete  failure.  He  felt  himself  he 
had  not  physical  strength,  nor  flexibility  of  mind,  and  did  not 
understand  the  world;  his  solitude  had  not  taught  him  sym- 
pathy with  people.  His  voice  was  not  strong  enough  and  his 


GREAT  ORATORS.  181 

lungs  would  be  ruined  ;  yet  he  felt  he  would  succeed.  In  his 
youth  he  had  loved  to  listen  and  be  stirred  by  eloquence,  and 
he  remembered  it. 

He  re-commenced  talking  in  a  small  chapel  to  youth,  and  as 
the  work  went  on  the  chapel  became  crowded,  and  even  great 
men  pushed  their  way  in  :  Chateaubriand,  Berryer,  Lamartine, 
and  Victor  Hugo.  He  spoke  for  truth  and  as  men  should 
speak,  direct  and  straightforward. 

At  last,  came  the  hour  for  Notre  Dame,  and  it  seemed  an 
inspiration.  It  was  a  tremendous  risk.  He  held  the  pulpit  ; 
and  men  went  to  hear  him  as  they  went  to  hear  the  great 
thinkers  of  the  day. 

He  required  room,  both  figuratively  and  physically,  to  speak 
in.  He  loved  the  sight  of  a  vast  crowd  and  the  feeling  that  it 
belonged  to  him.  Then  his  imagination  glowed  ;  his  intellect 
widened  as  he  felt  the  solemn,  unusual  thronging  together  of 
men — men  who  could  think  and  understand.  It  was  France  in 
little.  It  thrilled  his  sympathies.  It  drew  lightning  from  his 
heart  with  which  those  words  were  winged. 

His  was  a  commanding  presence.  In  the  distance  his  deli- 
cate features  showed  only  their  grander  lines,  accentuated  and 
severe.  His  look  too  piercing,  under  other  circumstances,  was 
subdued.  His  gesture  was  instructive  and  reflective. 

Calm  at  first,  slow  and  restrained  ;  then  emotion  deep  and 
heartfelt  inspired  his  movement.  Soul  and  body  acted  in  concert. 

His  voice,  at  first  feeble,  had  those  soft  and  delicate  tones 
that  fill  a  small  space  with  their  charm  and  effect,  but  are  lost 
in  a  large  one.  Clear,  incisive,  susceptible  of  force  and  passion, 
his  voice  grew  -more  fervent,  deepened  and  strengthened  to  a 
wonderful  degree. 

He  always  began  in  a  simple  manner,  then  suddenly  at  a  sign 
in  the  audience,  or  turn  in  a  phrase,  or  ''shock"  of  idea,  like 
lightning,he  was  "seized  "  and  the  listener  carried  along  with  him. 

It  was  not  learning  by  heart,  it  was  a  soul  that  broke  forth 
like  a  tide  through  the  walls  of  flesh,  and  cast  itself  reckless  and 
desperate  into  the  soul  of  another  ;  this  is  greater  than  speech. 
Eloquence  is  the  soul  which  takes  the  place  of  our  own.  Ex- 
temporaneous speech  takes  the  head  from  the  shoulders. 


182  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 


GREAT    ACTORS. 

Roscius — (Tragedian — 62  B.  C. ) — Extraordinary  beauty. 
"If  an  actor  lose  the  measure  of  a  passage  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree, or  lose  or  add  a  syllable,  instantly  hissed  off."  Principal 
effect  by  subtle  and  exquisite  rendering  of  meaning,  by  voice 
and  movement,  even  to  the  curve  or  extension  of  a  finger. 
Quintillian  gives  advice  about  the  peculiar  function  of  each 
finger,  and  its  proper  movement,  but  urges  especial  care  to 
avoid  mannerism  and  exaggeration.  Roscius  studied  before  a 
mirror  every  gesture,  and  arrived  speedily  at  such  a  degree  of 
perfection  that  he  was  enabled  to  reduce  the  studied  elegance  to 
a  fixed  method.  He  trained  his  voice  similarly.  Dignified  the 
art ;  profoundly  cultivated  it. 

Created  a  great  fame  by  mere  movements.  People  laughed 
or  wept,  and  were  as  much  excited  as  if  by  words.  It  seems  to 
have  worked  even  more  powerfully. 

His  extraordinary  skill  in  acting  procured  him  the  favor  of 
many  of  the  most  distinguished  Roman  nobles.  He  enjoyed 
the  friendship  of  Cicero.  Roscius  paid  the  greatest  attention 
to  his  art.  and  obtained  excellence  in  it  by  the  most  careful  and 
elaborate  study.  Horace  alludes  to  him  in  his  lines.  So  careful 
and  assiduous  was  he  in  his  preparation,  that  even  in  the  height 
of  his  reputation,  he  did  not  venture  upon  a  single  gesture  in 
public  which  he  had  not  previously  well  considered  and  prac- 
ticed at  home.  But  notwithstanding  all  this  study,  no  manner- 
ism or  affectation  appeared  in  his  acting ;  everything  he  did 
was  perfectly  natural  to  the  character  he  represented  ;  and  he 
himself  used  to  say  that  decere  was  the  highest  excellence  of  the 
art.  In  his  younger  years  Cicero  received  instruction  from 
Roscius.  He  realized  an  immense  fortune  by  his  profession. 

His  integrity,  modesty,  liberality,  and  generosity,  were  as 
great  essentials  in  his  character  as  his  skill  in  playing.  He  not 
only  gained  the  favor  of  the  common  people,  but  was  admitted 
to  the  friendship  of  persons  in  the  highest  rank. 

If  a  man  is  gifted  with  vast  capacities,  eagerness  to  work, 
such  a  man  is  sure  to  be  welcomed  with  universal  acclamation. 


GREAT  ACTORS.  183 

He  has  merely  to  appear  to  be  acknowledged.  Such  men  seem 
to  be  haunted  and  driven  by  an  incessant,  instinctive  craving 
for  expression,  and  if  forcibly  withdrawn  from  the  path  that 
leads  to  eminence,  they  will  inevitably  find  their  way  back. 
They  do  not  work  for  the  sake  of  eminence,  but  to  satisfy  a 
natural  craving  for  work.  They  are  ever  wrestling  with  diffi- 
culties, brooding  over  immature  ideas, — and  such  a  one  becomes 
a  quick  and  eager  listener  to  innumerable,  almost  inaudible 
teachings,  that  others  less  keen  are  sure  to  miss. 

Social  hindrances  cannot  impede  men  of  high  ability  from 
becoming  eminent,  and  social  advantages  are  incompetent  to 
give  status  to  those  of  mean  abilities. 

Even  if  a  man  be  long  unconscious  of  his  powers,  an  opportu- 
nity is  sure  to  occur — they  occur  again  to  every  man  that  will 
discover  them.  He  will  soon  make  up,  and  outstrip  competitors 
with  many  years  the  start,  as  they  discover  and  assert  their 
claims. 

Betterton — (Tragedian — 1700.) — Probably  the  first  who 
ever  wrote,  in  English,  upon  the  subject. 

Know  nature  and  always  keep  her  in  view;  adorned  with 
harmony,  decorum  and  order.  Make  your  study  your  busi- 
ness. The  mind  must  be  capable  of  entering  calmly  and 
judiciously  into  whatever  you  have  to  study,  and  thoroughly 
into  the  nature  of  the  part,  and  to  consider  the  variation  of  the 
voice,  looks  and  gestures  which  give  true  beauty.  It  is  not 
loud  effort  of  the  lungs,  in  which  the  understanding  has  no 
share.  Some  think  it  superfluous  trouble  to  study  real  excel- 
lence, and  assume  a  careless  and  lazy  remissness.  Some,  in  an 
incredibly  short  time,  vainly  imagine  themselves  masters  of 
that  Art,  which  to  fairly  attain,  requires  the  intense  application 
of  a  whole  life.  They  take  it  therefore  amiss  to  receive  instruc- 
tion, and  are  led  by  a  fancy  as  blind  as  ignorance  can  make  it  ; 
and  so  wander  on  without  any  certain  rule  of  judgment,  favor- 
ing the  bad,  and  slighting  the  good. 

One  must,  to  be  a  good  actor  have  a  reputation  off,  as  well 
as  on  the  stage. 


184  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

ACTION. — The  eye  is  caught  by  anything  in  motion,  but 
passes  over  things  inanimate.  The  action  must  be  that  and 
that  alone  which  is  suited  and  agreeable  to  the  person  alone. 
There  are  various  characters,  manners,  and  passions  ;  and  to 
these  adjust  every  action  ;  express  the  quality  and  manners  of 
patriot,  prince,  beggar  or  clown.  The  actor  should  transform 
himself  into  every  person  he  represents.  Even  as  a  lover  he 
may  be  prince  or  peasant,  hot  and  fiery,  or  moderate.  He 
should  be  thoroughly  acquainted  with  all  the  emotions  produc- 
tive of  those  movements  of  the  feet,  hands  and  looks  of  a  person 
under  such  circumstances. 

PREPARATION. — Address  in  a  performance  can  never  be  at- 
tained without  the  last  degree  of  perfectness  in  the  text,  for 
without  it  one  cannot  be  free  from  apprehension  of  being 
"out."  First  master  the  part,  then  leave  it  to  nature.  Mas- 
ter nature  by  observation  of  all  its  appearances,  for  the  passions- 
of  the  mind  discover  themselves  in  our  looks,  actions  and 
gestures. 

THE  EYE. — Rolling,  quick  and  inconstant,  quick  and  light 
wit ;  (choleric  complexion,}  inconstant  and  impatient  mind. 
Heavy  and  dull,  dull  mind,  slow  to  conceive.  When  old  and 
sick, — the  eye  turns  slowly  with  few  winks. 

THE  HANDS. — Some  actors  never  know  what  to  do  with 
their  hands  and  never  add  grace  to  the  action  of  the  body,  nor 
anything  to  the  explanation  or  fuller  expression  of  the  words 
and  passions.  Gestures  ought  to  be  beautiful  and  expressive. 
They  strike  the  understanding  by  the  eyes,  as  effectually  as 
speaking  does  by  the  ears  ;  nay,  perhaps,  make  the  more  effect- 
ual impression,  that  sense  being  the  most  vivacious  and  touch- 
ing. The  representation  of  them  in  painting  often  strikes  our 
passions,  and  makes  impressions  on  our  minds  more  strong  and 
vivid  than  all  the  force  of  words.  The  best  speaking  without, 
is  dull  and  heavy.  When  the  eyes  and  hands  are  unemployed 
in  reading,  the  audience  grow  languid,  but  with  action  it  re- 


PREPARATION.  185 

ceives  soul  and  life.  You  must  resemble  the  passion  you  would 
express.  Avoid  all  manner  of  affectation  unless  it  is  to  be  ex- 
pressed. 

Appear  purely  natural,  as  the  genuine  offspring  of  the 
things  you  express,  and  the  passion  that  moves  you  to  speak  in 
that  manner.  Have  that  nice  address  in  management  of  ges- 
tures, that  there  may  be  nothing  in  all  the  various  motions  and 
dispositions  of  the  body  offensive  to  the  eye.  Study  before  a. 
large  looking-glass  in  private  ;  study  historic  paintings  and  statu- 
ary. Practice  dancing.  Neither  stand  like  a  statue  nor  move 
too  much.  Head  neither  too  high,  nor  stretched  out,  nor  hung 
on  the  breast,  neither  always  moving,  nor  still. 

Raise,  lower,  contract,  or  extend  eyebrows  ;  give  brisk,  sullen, 
or  heavy  turn  to  the  eyes  ;  sharpen,  or  swell  the  nostrils ;  give 
various  positions  to  the  mouth ;  all  wonderfully  improving. 
Exercise  and  frequent  practice  will  reform  errors.  Every  part 
is  a  new  one.  In  the  performance  every  one  sees  you  though 
you  see  not  yourself.  The  audience  fix  their  eyes  on  the  face 
the  whole  time  of  action.  It  must  have  infinite  variations. 
Note  quality  of  rank  inferior  or  superior.  The  orator  must 
change  his  eyes  to  different  parts  of  auditory  ;  the  actor  must 
look,  as  a  general  rule,  to  the  person  with  whom  he  acts. 

Form  in  the  mind  a  very  strong  idea  of  the  passion  and  it 
will  be  likely  to  follow.  Begin  the  action  with  what  you  say 
and  end  it  when  you  have  done  speaking.  As  much  as  possible 
every  gesture  should  express  the  nature  of  the  words,  which 
would  sufficiently  and  beautifully  employ  your  hands.  Emo- 
tion must  have  action.  Never  let  the  hands  hang  as  if  dead. 
They  should  always  be  in  view  of  the  eyes  and  correspond  with 
the  motions  of  the  head,  eyes  and  body  ;  not  always  in  motion, 
and  yet  not  wholly  quiescent.  Action  is  the  business  of  the 
stage.  Never  immoderate  to  transport  beyond  self,  nor  too 
tame.  Some  are  tragical  and  howl  upon  every  trifle.  Some  are 
so  tame  and  cold  as  to  be  more  like  a  wet  hen.  Such  are  better 
to  comfort  the  sick  than  to  act  in  public.  Some  have  a  Hack 
voice,  dismal  and  horrid  ;  the  brown  is  simply  less  so  ;  some 
rough,  very  strong  ;  some  small ;  weak  ;  slender  ;  unmelodious  j 
rude  ;  uncouth  ;  monotonous  ;  rigid  ;  hard  ;  harsh  ;  brazen; 


186  ACTIXG   AXD    ORATORY. 

sharp.  A  good  voice  is  high,  lofty,  firm,  clear,  smooth,  full, 
pure,  sweet,  simple,  round,  flexible. 

For  Joy, — full,  simple,  pleasant,  flowing  voice. 

Dispute, — extended  with  all  its  nervous  force. 

Anger, — vehement,  sharp,  acute,  close,  compact,  mixed  with 
frequent  respirations. 

Envy, — slow. 

To  have  perfect  control,  make  it  gentle  and  fierce,  contracted 
and  diffused.  Generally,  as  exalted  a  voice  as  nature  will  bear. 
A  healthy  voice  increases  the  animal  heat,  thins  the  blood, 
cleanses  the  veins,  and  prevents  disease. 

Every  syllable  should  be  distinct,  full,  not  muffled ;  with 
broad  mouth,  consistently  wide,  but  not  bellowing,  confused 
and  affected.  Not  so  loud  as  to  destroy  articulation.  Have 
the  tone  fine  and  varied.  See  what  the  words,  subject,  and 
passion  require  ;  but  let  the  variations  be  natural,  like  common 
discourse.  Always  speak  in  the  same  tone  on  the  stage  as  in  a 
room,  allowing  for  distance.  Vary  the  voice  as  often  as  possi- 
ble, but  with  art  and  harmony.  Be  sure  and  keep  a  true  me- 
dium. Allow  time  or  you  will  not  convince.  Sometimes  ex- 
treme volubility  is  beautiful.  Precipitation  of  speech  causes 
consumption.  Keep  pace  with  an  audience,  neither  too  swift 
nor  too  slow.  In  speaking  of  things  natural,  when  designed 
merely  to  be  understood,  there  is  no  need  of  heat  or  motion  ;  a 
clear,  distinct  expression  is  sufficient.  The  voice  must  be  adapt- 
ed to  the  sentiment.  Then  again,  all  subjects  may  differ  in 
quality  of  simplicity,  grandeur,  and  make  still  further  distinc- 
tions. You  must  consider  the  nature  of  the  subject  of  which 
you  are  to  speak,  and  fix  a  very  deep  impression  of  it  in  your 
own  mind  before  you  can  be  touched  with  it  yourself,  or  be 
able  to  convey  the  same  impression  to  another.  Do  not  be  vehe- 
ment in  trifles,  like  using  a  club  against  a  worm  when  the  foot 
would  do.  Know  what  is  tit  and  how  to  express  it. 

Gibber. — His  powers  lay  entirely  in  comic  characters.  In 
these  he  was  surpassingly  fine.  When  he  represented  a  ridicu- 
lous humor  he  had  a  mouth  in  every  nerve,  and  became  elo- 
quent without  speaking;  his  attitudes  were  pointed  and  exquisite; 


GREAT  ACTORS.  187 

his  expression  was  stronger  than  painting;  he  was  beautifully 
absorbed  by  the  character,  and  demanded  and  monopolized 
attention  ;  his  very  extravagances  were  colored  by  propriety.  To 
him  obstacles  were  incentives.  Nature,  even,  according  to  his 
own  account,  had  denied  him  almost  every  theatrical  requisite, 
yet  he  found  a  substitute  for  all,  and  made  study  and  perfect- 
ness  arrest  the  attention  of  the  public. 

Barton  Booth. — His  walk  and  mounting  to  a  throne, 
giving  audience,  descending  from  throne,  and  leaving  stage, 
had  a  grandeur  not  to  be  described. 

Wilkes. — Paid  attention  to  smallest  trifles, — such  as  gloves, 
watch,  cane,  taking  snuff — whole  breeding  and  manner  reality. 

Barry. — Excelled  in  pathos.  Excessive  sensibility  con- 
quered his  powers ;  his  heart  overcame  his  head.  He  riveted 
sentiment  to  the  heart. 

Betterton. — Betterton  furnishes  one  of  the  most  extra- 
ordinary examples  of  the  value  of  training  the  world  has  ever 
known.  Marvelous  and  magnetic  effects  were  produced  by  his 
acting.  Almost  without  speaking  he  could  let  an  audience  into 
the  workings  of  his  mind,  and  anticipate  his  next  motion,  as  if 
it  arose  from  its  own  volition.  Yet  face,  figure  and  voice  were 
all  against  him.  His  figure  was  clumsy  ;  he  had  a  large  head  ; 
short,  thick  neck  ;  fat,  short  arms  and  stooped  in  the  shoulders  ; 
he  had  a  broad  face,  little  eyes ;  was  corpulent,  and  had  thick 
legs  ;  but  yet  of  serious  and  majestic  aspect.  His  voice  was  low 
and  grumbling,  yet  he  could  tune  it  to  force  universal  attention. 
In  complexion  ruddy  and  sanguine,  yet  could  turn  pale  while 
acting.  He  seized  eyes  and  ears  at  once  on  his  entrance.  His 
attitudes  and  appearance  were  strongly  intelligent.  He  seemed 
sensible  to  the  minutest  article  of  sound  and  every  line  satisfied 
the  ear,  with  not  the  least  stroke  of  a  syllable  amiss.  Gestures 
few  but  just.  Most  extraordinary  action  of  fingers,  hands  and 
limbs,  and  with  voice  all  in  detail  with  the  character.  He  had 
a  just  sense  of  true  applause  and  preferred  an  attentive  to  a 


188  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

boisterous  audience.  He  was  personally  free  from  jealousy  of 
the  acting  of  others. 

Hamlet. — fn  the  opening  scene  voice  sweet,  tender,  sad,  low, 
with  a  dignity  so  natural,  and  grace  so  consummate,  it  was  like 
a  delicious  enchantment.  In  ghost  scene  audience  almost  in 
tears ;  such  love,  and  awe.  Not  violent  to  ghost,  but  almost 
breathless  astonishment,  or  impatience  limited  by  filial  rever- 
ence. Made  ghost  terrible  to  spectators.  In  first  soliloquy  it 
was  music's  pulse  in  his  arteries.  His  mind  seemed  to  act. 

Othello. — In  the  handkerchief  scene  it  was  wonderful  agony. 
The  mixture  of  love,  on  the  innocent  answers  of  Desdemona, 
betrayed  in  his  gestures  such  variety  and  vicissitude  of 
passion. 

Talma. — When  he  made  his  first  appearance  on  a  public 
stage  in  the  year  1783,  at  the  Thedtre  de  Doyan,  in  the  tra- 
gedy of  "  Mahomet,"  a  committee  of  friends,  convened  to  de- 
cide upon  his  future  chances,  pronounced  that  he  had  abso- 
lutely none  for  a  theatrical  career  ;  for,  said  they,  what  can  you 
hope  when  the  highest  inspiration  (feu  sacre)  has  been  denied 
to  you  ?  but  it  is  evident  that  you  are  a  man  of  ability,  and  you 
may  no  doubt  exercise  it  with  advantage  if  you  take  up  your 
father's  profession. 

He  had  then  that  passionate  imagination,  with  the  strength 
to  regulate  its  sway,  which  is  of  the  utmost  importance  to  a 
tragic  actor.  To  these  qualities  the  young  Talma  now  began  to 
add  the  resources  of  extended  knowledge,  which  it  is  desirable 
for  every  great  tragedian  to  cultivate.  He  stole  hours  of  leisure 
for  studying  history,  and  he  took  delight-  in  illustrating  the 
scenes  which  took  his  fancy ;  processions,  Roman  and  Greek, 
European  and  barbaric,  came  to  light  under  his  pencil  always 
correctly  costumed,  and  before  long  he  was  more  learned  in 
ancient  lore  than  in  anatomy.  His  intellect  carried  him  far  in 
every  pursuit ;  but  for  the  stage  he  had  that  distinct  calling 
which  will  not  be  gainsaid.  This  was  known  to  several  young 
Parisians  of  fashion,  who  frequently  invited  him.  to  their  salons 
to  act  in  amateur  plays,  where  he  never  failed  to  make  a  strong 
impression.  All  his  acquirements  in  other  directions  served 


GREAT   ACTORS.  189 

only  as  fuel  for  the  burning  flame  within  him.  The  impetus 
could  not  be  arrested,  and  the  emotional  poetry  of  life  wholly 
possessed  him.  It  became  as  evident  that  his  imaginative  passion 
must  find  its  expression  as  that  the  groaning  Vesuvius  must 
have  its  eruptions,  and  so  in  the  year  1787,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
four,  he  came  out  in  tragedy  as  one  of  the  Socie"te  of  the  Com- 
<>die  Fran9aise.  He  was  much,  and  perhaps  justly,  criticised. 
His  voice  delighted  too  much  in  its  own  thunder,  and  his  passion 
was  too  liberal  of  its  force.  The  judges  said  of  him,  as  they  had 
before  said  of  Le  Kain,  77  crie,  and  the  success  of  the  young 
tragedian  was  doubtful.  Whether  from  jealousy  or  disbelief  in 
his  powers,  the  company  only  assigned  third  parts  to  him  ;  this, 
however,  gave  him  leisure  for  study  ;  he  worked  assiduously  at 
the  lessons  of  the  Conservatoire  under  those  distinguished 
teachers,  Mole  and  Dugazon,  and  in  all  parts  he  strove  continu- 
ally to  correct  his  faults  ;  at  the  same  time  he  went  on  acquir- 
ing daily  knowledge  in  the  history  of  costume,  for  he  knew  that 
he  should  one  day  enforce  upon  the  whole  company  the  ad- 
vantages of  adapting  it  chronologically  with  exactness  and 
splendor. 

Talma  labored  hard,  also,  to  regulate  his  emotion,  and  he 
knew  well  how  to  concentrate  his  force.  His  strong  self-asser- 
tion was  acknowledged  to  be  something  better  than  arrogance, 
and  though  his  genius  met  with  continual  and  irritating  "oppo- 
sition, he  never  ceased  to  be  great,  and  he  never  ceased  to  im- 
prove. He  learned  the  dominion  of  reserve,  and  no  longer  suf- 
fered the  power  of  his  voice  to  betray  him  ;  his  fine  organ,  his 
intellect  and  passion  were  not  his  only  qualities  ;  he  had,  be- 
sides, a  noble  countenance,  capable  of  exhibiting  every  variety 
of  tragic  emotion.  He  practiced  these,  and  his  action,  before  a 
glass.  He  noted  the  modulation^  of  his  voice  so  carefully  that 
he  was  able  to  excite  sympathy  and  tears  by  the  recital  of  non- 
sense verses.  He  was  short  in  stature,  but  his  grand  deport- 
ment, well-chosen  costume,  and  fine  action  persuaded  the  spec- 
tators to  believe  he  was  tall — a  delusion  not  unfrequently  ob- 
tained upon  the  stage.  It  was  the  same  with  Rachel. 

He  had  played  in  Racine's,  and  more  particularly  in  Cor- 
neille's.  tragedies,  so  as  to  invest  them  with  extraordinary  in- 


190  ACT1XG    AXD    ORATOHY. 

terest ;  his  passion  grasped  all  the  best  qualities  of  the  natural 
school ;  his  great  predecessors  had  abandoned  recitative  in 
verse  ;  he  went  further,  and  frequently  leaped  over  his  rhymes. 
Poets  proud  of  their  difficult  terminations,  selected  with  pain 
of  heart  and  sweat  of  brow,  were  very  angry,  but  he  followed 
his  own  feeling,  and  was  right.  The  old  classical  school  grum- 
bled and  censured  during  the  greater  part  of  his  career,  but  he 
added  to  his  vigorous  innovations  so  much  dignity  of  bearing, 
and  so  high  a  sense  of  poetical  beauty,  that,  on  the  whole,  con- 
servatism and  reform  were  both  satisfied. 

Talma  was  a  man  to  whom  enduring  domestic  peace  was  un 
impossibility.  Excitement  seemed  his  necessity ;  he  plunged 
into  it  to  get  outside  of  his  own  mind,  which  teemed  with  pain- 
ful images.  There  were  days  on  which  he  surveyed  his  wife 
with  evident  distress.  On  one  occasion  he  told  her  that, 
though  he  knew  she  was  beautiful,  he  looked  for  her  beauty  in 
vain — he  could  see  only  her  skeleton.  This  idea  frequently 
possessed  him  ;  he  saw  death,  skulls,  dust,  bones,  and  worms, 
while  he  sat  among  his  friends. 

Some  ascribed  these  hauntings  of  his  imagination  to  his 
early  residence  in  London,  and  the  anatomical  studies  of  his 
youth.  He  sometimes  rushed  from  them  to  the  gaming-table, 
but  it  was  only  in  the  pursuit  of  his  art  that  he  ever  really  found 
rest.  Here,  always  vigilant,  always  sober,  he  exercised  his  great 
faculties  with  unceasing  delight.  His  whole  spirit  was  subdued 
to  the  will  of  his  muse,  and  as  long  as  he  was  actually  studying 
a  part  he  was  completely  under  the  dominion  of  his  judgment. 

He  and  his  wife  worked  and  acted  for  a  long  period  harmo- 
niously together — in  the  tragedies  of  "  CEdipe,"  "Othello," 
"Agamemnon,"  and  " Andromaque,"  they  were  especially 
successful. 

Talma  had  in  him  that  combination  of  the  highest  qualities 
of  art  with  far-reaching  and  exalted  passion,  which  justifies  the 
use  of  the  word  sublime. 

There  is  a  phrase  in  the  French  language,  become  too  com- 
mon now,  which  was  invented  for  Madame  Talma.  A  critic, 
trying  to  convey  an  idea  of  the  emotion  she  excited,  found  this 
expression  :  "  Elle  a  des  larmes  dans  la  voix." 


GREAT  ACTORS.  191 

Some  may  perhaps  be  disposed  to  ascribe  Madame  Talma's 
singular  influence  to  the  divine  gift  of  such  a  voice,  and  it  is  true 
that  so  capable  an  instrument  is  a  precious  endowment  for  a 
player  ;  but  it  is  also  true  that  the  power  she  acquired  over  this 
instrument  was  the  result  of  great  vigilance  and  labor.  It  must 
not  be  supposed  to  mean  a  weeping  voice,  but  a  voice  whose 
tones  alone,  without  further  effort  on  the  part  of  the  artist, 
could  produce  weeping  in  others.  Actual  weeping  should  be 
rare  on  the  stage,  and  when  an  actress  thinks  that  her  audience 
will  cry  because  she  herself  cries,  she  is  greatly  mistaken.  Only 
in  exceptional  cases  are  tearful  tones  sympathetic.  A  crying 
voice  is  generally  nasal — the  nose  is  pinched,  the  passage  of  the 
voice  from  the  chest  is  obstructed,  and  the  whole  effect  is  emi- 
nently disagreeable. 

One  of  Madame  Talma's  favorite  exercises  was  the  ejacula- 
tion of  the  monosyllable  "Ah!"  with  an  infinite  variety  of 
notes  to  affect  the  mind  of  the  hearer  in  different  ways.  She 
used  to  shut  herself  up  in  her  room  and  imagine  situations  of 
horror  or  affliction,  in  which  she  was  herself  the  principal. 
She  was  sometimes  about  to  be  dragged  to  the  guillotine,  or  her 
children  were  being  torn  from  her,  or  she  was  deserted  by  her 
husband,  a  prey  to  jealous  anguish ;  her  emotion  never  failed 
to  follow  these  fancies,  and  her  exclamations  were  sometimes  so 
agonizing,  that  the  reflection  of  them  back  upon  herself  almost 
exhausted  her  consciousness.  Her  expression  was  purposely 
confined  to  the  simple  ejaculation  "Ah  !"  for  she  thought  it 
desirable  to  acquire  a  complete  command  of  tones  before  prac- 
ticing more  complex  forms  of  meaning  shaped  into  words.  An- 
other of  her  exercises  consisted  in  the  various  utterances  of  the 
short,  seemingly  insignificant  sentence  of  "  Bonjour,  monsieur." 
She  used  to  imagine  a  quarrel  with  a  friend,  and  then  a  con- 
strained meeting,  all  which  her  "Bonjour,  monsieur,"  should 
indicate  ;  or  a  concealed  disgust,  or  a  hidden  passion,  or  a  cold 
disdain  ;  and  these  phrases  she  repeated  till  she  was  certain  that 
they  must  convey  the  intended  feeling  to  any  hearer  of  average 
sensibility. 

Here  is  an  example  of  that  patience  of  genius  which  Carlyle 
has  spoken  of  as  its  very  essence.  There  are  probably  many 


192  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

young  people  entered  or  entering  upon  the  stage,  and  believing 
themselves  clever,  who  will  laugh  at  the  idea  of  these  solitary, 
arduous  efforts  of  Madame  Talma's  :  they  will  say,  '*'  How  ridic- 
ulous to  imagine  yourself  being  dragged  to  the  guillotine ; 
how  absurd  to  spend  hours  in  giving  expression  to  such  a  phrase 
as  '  Bonjour,  monsieur  ;  '  "  and  no  doubt  if  the  great  artist  were 
living  still,  as  her  reputation  is,  these  persons  would  proceed  to 
"quiz  her "  according  to  their  own  notions.  They  might  do 
that,  and  she,  certain  of  her  art,  might  advance  with  her  modest 
dignity  to  the  centre  of  the  stage,  face  her  audience,  speak  a 
few  appealing  words  in  her  tender,  faultless  articulation,  and 
meet  the  answer  of  fast-falling  tears  from,  every  man  and  every 
woman  present ;  for  she  never  failed  to  reach  the  hearts  of  her 
hearers. 

•'In  what,"  says  she,  "does  dramatic  impulse  (verve  thed- 
trale)  consist  ?  Can  it  be  acquired  by  assiduous  endeavor  ? 
Study,  a  determined  will,  and  even  the  utmost  perseverance, 
will  do  nothing  if  nature  does  not  second  you.  It  is  possible  to 
be  an  intelligent,  a  meritorious,  and  a  justly-applauded  artist, 
and  yet  never  to  command  that  dramatic  impulse  which  can 
intoxicate,  which  can  transport,  which  can  dominate  an  audi- 
ence. The  divine  spark  (feu  sacre),  the  dramatic  impulse" 
(words  synonymous),  "  are  nothing  less  than  a  fever,  a  vibra- 
tion of  the  nerves,  a  kind  of  malady  favorable  to  the  person 
who  is  possessed  by  it."  Great  labor  on  the  part  of  the  artist  is 
required  to  regulate  this  state  of  exaltation,  and  to  master  com- 
pletely the  gradations  of  passion,  till  by  restraint  in  some  pas- 
sages he  can  in  others  command  that  prodigious  force  which 
deserves  to  be  called  sublime. 

No  tragedian  ever  acquired  a  more  supreme  command  over 
the  fire  that  raged  within  him  than  Talma.  Yet  Talma  himself 
— the  great  Talma — had  an  extraordinary  difficulty  in  exerting 
this  empire  over  himself  on  the  first  nights,  especially  when  he 
played  a  part  belonging  to  the  classical  repertoire ;  he  could 
then  scarcely  control  his  alarm,  his  trepidation,  his  extreme 
agitation.  But  the  first  representation  once  over,  his  presence 
of  mind  returned  to  him,  and  he  then  arranged  his  effects  with 
precision  and  certainty,  so  that  he  could  unfailingly  reproduce 


GREAT    ACTORS.  193 

them,  and  whatever  part  he  played,  he  seemed  always  to  over- 
top it. 

Madame  Talma  warns  young  players  against  too  much  faith 
in  tradition — a  warning  not  at  all  needed  in  this  country,  where 
we  have  no  dramatic  tradition  ;  and  perhaps  not  much  required 
at  the  present  day  in  France,  where  there  exists,  even  at  the 
Theatre  Fran9ais,  a  more  general  disposition  to  rush  into  the 
affected  negligence  of  a  new  school,  than  to  contemplate  with 
admiration  the  great  models  of  the  past.  Admiration,  however, 
is  well  fitted  to  raise  the  mind  of  the  artist,  and  when  Madame 
Talma  deprecates  tradition,  her  intention  is  merely  to  put  down 
direct  imitation,  which  she  justly  holds  to  be  fatal  to  the  pro- 
gress of  art.  Talma  used  to  feel  almost  paralyzed  in  certain 
passages  which  the  genius  of  Le  Kain  seemed  to  have  appropri- 
ated. The  character  of  Orasmanein  "Zaire"  was  anti-pathetic 
to  him  for  this  reason  :  at  the  famous  line,  "  Zaire  vous  pleu- 
rez,"  he  used  to  sweat  drops  of  agony,  and  yet  missed  his  effect, 
impeded  by  the  knowledge  of  what  Le  Kain  before  him  had 
done  with  these  words.  In  the  part  of  Othello,  where  a  similar 
passion  works,  but  in  which  he  had  no  traditions  to  interfere 
with  him,  he  had  his  audience  completely  under  his  sway. 

It  is  remarkable  that  Talma's  passion  not  only  invested  his 
•own  poets  with  a  vitality  which  made  them  live  for  all  nation- 
alities, but  that  he  was  able  to  play  Shakespeare,  fettered  as  it 
was  by  the  rhymed  translation  and  absurd  alterations  of  Ducis, 
in  a  manner  which  reached  the  heart  of  Englishmen  ;  there  are 
those  who  even  now  turn  cold  at  the  recollection  of  his  look  in 
Hamlet  when  he  came  upon  the  stage  after  a  dream  of  his 
father's  ghost ;  and  his  Macbeth  and  Othello  were  by  all  critics, 
whether  foreign  or  French,  looked  upon  as  masterpieces.  He 
had  the  advantage  of  knowing  English  as  well  as  his  own 
tongue,  and  besides  this  he  had  a  powerful  intellect.  He  was  with 
such  means  at  his  command  able  to  penetrate  the  inmost  thoughts 
of  the  poet ;  his  glowing  imagination  supplied  the  great  spirit, 
and  rushed  through  the  boundaries  of  frigid  words. 

The  G-irondins  had  been  the  great  actor's  first  friends. 
They  were  all  swept  away.  It  was  at  a  social  meeting  with 
some  of  the  leaders  of  that  party  that  he  first  conceived  the  idea 


194:  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

of  making  stage  monarchs  speak  like  living  men.  He  com- 
pleted the  reforms  begun  by  the  famous  Baron,  and  gave  ample 
freedom  to  tragedy.  In  the  character  of  Orestes,  and  in  others 
where  an  immense  passion  was  to  be  expressed,  he  dared  to  utter 
inarticulate  cries,  but  he  distributed  them  with  careful  thought; 
he  was  exact  as  to  the  how  and  the  where.  Self-cornmand,  an 
exalted  imagination,  an  educated  and  comprehensive  intellect, 
with  an  unalterable  belief  in  himself,  distinguished  him  as  an 
artist,  and  to  these  qualities  he  added  physical  strength. 

He  could  work  up  violent  passions  without  moving  his 
hands,  and  he  also  had  great  dignity  of  repose.  His  genius 
rose  above  all  conventionalities  of  the  schools. 

Every  turn  and  motion  as  he  trod  the  stage  was  a  model  for 
the  sculptor's  art,  and  yet  all  was  effected  with  such  apparent 
absence  of  preparation  as  made  him  seem  utterly  unconscious  of 
the  dignified  and  graceful  attitudes  he  presented.  His  voice 
was  flexible  and  powerful,  and  his  delivery  articulate  to  the 
finest  point  without  a  trace  of  pedantry.  There  was  an  ease 
and  freedom,  whether  in  familiar  colloquy,  in  lofty  declamation, 
or  burst  of  passion,  that  gave  an  air  of  unpremeditation  to  every 
sentence,  one  of  the  highest  achievements  of  the  histrionic  art. 
He  would  dress  some  time  before  the  hour,  and  make  the  pe- 
culiarities of  his  costume  familiar  to  him  ;  and  at  the  same  time 
possess  himself  more  with  the  feeling  of  his  character. 

His  object  was  not  to  dazzle  by  isolated  effects  ;  the  character 
was  his  aim;  he  put  it  on  and  was  attentive  to  every  minutest 
trait  that  might  distinguish  it.  He  was  the  most  finished 
artist  of  his  time  in  energetic  displays,  in  the  refinement  of  his 
taste  and  extent  of  his  research,  and  unfettered  by  stiffness  and 
formality.  Talma  studied  forty  years  to  be  energetic  without 
noise  and  effort. 

Garrick. — When  he  first  presented  himself  in  London, 
managers  rejected  him  as  a  stroller.  They  repented  the  next 
season.  He  had  begun  in  a  smaller  place  and  done  finely.  He 
now  studied  Kichard  III.  and  felt  sure  of  his  reputation.  The 
night  came  for  Lvndon,  and  the  very  moment  he  entered  the 
scene  he  seemed  transformed  into  the  very  man  ;  and  his  look, 


ORE  AT  ACTORS.  195 

his  voice,  his  attitude  changed  with  every  sentiment.  The  pas- 
sions rose  in  rapid  succession,  and  before  he  uttered  a  word, 
were  legible  in  every  feature.  Everything  was  almost  a  reality. 
In  arising  from  the  dream  he  was  a  spectacle  of  horror. 

His  style  was  exact  to  nature,  even  easy  and  familiar.  Critics 
were  at  first  surprised ;  they  were  accustomed,  to  mechanical, 
sudden  elevations  and  depression  of  tones  and  clap-trap.  He 
threw  new  light  on  elocution ;  he  banished  rant,  bombast  and 
grimace,  and  substituted  nature,  ease,  simplicity  and  genuine 
humor.  He  never  ventured  half- prepared,  but  knew  his  powers 
and  the  task  he  undertook.  He  communicated  passion  instantly 
to  an  audience.  The  strong  intelligence  of  his  eye,  the. animated 
expression  of  his  whole  countenance,  the  flexibility  of  his  voice 
and  his  spirited  action  riveted  attention.  He  could,  without  the 
least  preparation,  transform  himself  into  any  character,  tragic  or 
comic,  the  highest  or  the  lowest ;  and  seize  instantaneously  upon 
any  passion  of  the  human  mind.  He  could  make  a  sudden 
transition  from  violent  rage,  or  even  madness,  to  the  extremes 
of  levity  and  humor,  and  go  through  the  scale  of  the  passions 
and  the  whole  circle  of  theatric  evolution  with  the  most  sur- 
prising velocity. 

His  acting  was  a  complete  freedom  from  stage  conventionali- 
ties and  traditions.  It  was  bewildering,  so  natural.  His  face 
was  a  language  even  to  the  deaf  and  dumb.  He  had  wonderful 
mobility  of  features.  He  could  express  profound  melancholy, 
extreme  dread,  or  become  a  statue  of  astonishment,  as  if  an 
actuality.  He  had  a  surprising  study — practiced  before  a  mir- 
ror, rehearsed  with  Quinn  an  actor,  received  criticism  from  pub- 
lic anonymously.  Nature  so  easy  and  delightful,  such  delicate 
ripples  of  expression  on  his  face  ;  ten  thousand  beauties  in  his 
acting  that  plodders  never  see.  Never  out  of  part.  In  his 
greatest  passages  on  the  stage  astonished  himself  as  much  as 
the  house.  Used  but  little  gesture,  but  still  great.  Could  make 
audience  weep,  and  yet  turn  to  actors  on  the  stage  and  laugh. 
Even  in  ordinary  dress  was  grand  in  "the  dagger  scene."  His 
studio  was  in  the  crowded  streets.  He  was  a  most  profound 
student  of  nature.  He  was  even  monkeyish  of  all  he  saw,  but 
always  graceful ;  an  acute  observer,  yet  never  forgot  his  char- 


196  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

acters.     Made  his  audience  feel  them  when  not  overcome  him- 
self by  emotion. 

He  was  always  sure  to  watch  the  motions  of  the  eyes  of 
others,  and  he  wished  others  to  look  at  him.  His  voice  was 
not  strong,  but  clear ;  he  was  physically  light  and  graceful ; 
and  had  brilliant  eyes.  In  personal  disposition  he  was  quick 
and  irritable  ;  but  confiding  in  his  powers  he  bade  defiance  to 
the  malice  of  his  enemies. 

Macbeth. — In  the  " dagger  scene"  he  started  at  seeing  the 
dagger ;  and  his  attitude,  his  consternation,  his  pausing,  his 
soul  in  his  countenance,  astonished  the  spectators.  The  air 
was  converted  into  an  alarming  weapon.  The  sequel  was  a 
climax  of  terror,  till  he  finds  it  to  be  from  a  disordered  imagi- 
nation. When  he  came  from  the  chamber  with  the  daggers  he 
seemed  absolutely  scared  ;  like  a  ghastly  spectacle  ;  his  complex- 
ion pallid  ;  his  voice  in  low,  but  piercing  notes ;  and  then  in- 
imitable mention  of  sleeping  grooms  and  murder  of  sleep  ;  then 
(afterwards,  when  stung  to  the  quick,  in  wild  despair,  he  utters 
— "Will  all  great  Heptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood  clean  from 
my  hand."  At  the  ghost  of  Banquo  he  was  in  wild  amazement 
and  distraction.  At  the  bitter  end  he  fought  with  desperation 
and  fell — with  the  spectators  panting  in  terror. 

Hamlet. — His  tones  of  voice  were  in  unison  with  the  work- 
ings of  his  mind.  He  changed  with  wonderful  celerity  ;  at 
every  pause  his  face  was  an  index.  His  following  of  the  ghost 
was  awful  and  tremendous.  To  the  ghost  such  a  figure  of  con- 
sternation was  never  seen.  He  stopped  in  mute  astonishment, 
growing  paler  and  paler,  then  with  low,  trembling  accent  and 
with  the  greatest  difficulty. 

Lear. — The  curse  like  a  blast  of  lightning.  In  madness 
gave  no  sudden  starts,  no  violent  gesticulation ;  movements 
slow,  feeble,  with  misery  in  countenance  ;  head  most  deliber- 
ately moved,  eyes  fixed,  or  if  turned  to  look,  a  pause,  and  fixed 
after  upon  some  one  ;  a  picture  of  woe  and  desolation  ;  his  blood 
gave  momentary  firmness  to  nerveless  limbs,  then  increased  lan- 
guor. He  copied  this  character  from  a  father  who  dropped  a 
child  from  a  window  and  who  afterwards  became  insane. 

He  constantly  improved  by  daily  study  until  sixty  years  of 


GREAT  ACTORS.  197 

age.  His  house  was  a  rendezvous  for  the  learned,  the  elegant, 
the  accomplished  in  all  arts  and  sciences,  so  that  he  was  con- 
stantly drawing  from  the  great  fountains  of  wisdom,  and  his 
naturally  rich  mind  thus  received  large  accessions.  His  great 
sensibility  of  temper  often  led  others  to  take  advantage  of  him. 
Sensibility  is  the  best  proof  of  a  good  mind,  and  an  earnest  that 
he  who  possesses  it  reverences  art  and  respects  the  great  public. 

Elizabeth  Barry. — A  waif  of  the  streets  at  sixteen  years 
of  age.  Her  dark  hair  and  eyes  attracted  the  attention  of  Lord 
Eochester  and  he  took  her  and  educated  her.  Davenant  in  de- 
spair at  her  dullness,  but  acknowledged  her  dignity.  Eochester 
knew  better.  She  was  rejected  on  three  special  occasions  by  man- 
agers. All  declared  "she  never  would  be  an  actress  /"  Eochester 
bestowed  infinite  pains.  Sentence  by  sentence  he  made  her  un- 
derstand, and  her  intelligence  leaped  into  life  and  splendor  under 
his  instruction.  The  time  was  arranged  at  length,  and  all  Lon- 
don awaited  the  event.  Thirty  rehearsals,  twelve  in  full  costume 
(a  page  trained  to  bear  her  train),  and  yet  a  miserable  failure. 
All  aristocratic  London  declared  she  was  pretty,  but  '•'  no  talent !" 
Played  for  awhile  in  the  suburbs,  returned  to  London  and  played 
for  a  year  or  more  in  minor  and  inferior  parts,  until  one  night  a 
part  was  given  her  that  she  could  act  and  she  burst  forth  in  all 
her  grandeur.  Now  no  violence  of  passion  however  great  was 
too  much  for  her.  In  Monimia  and  Belvidera  she  simply  took 
the  town  by  storm.  Her  acting  at  this  time  was  perfection,  and 
her  personal  attractions  at  their  zenith.  She  had  a  presence  of 
elevated  dignity,  her  mien  and  motion  were  superb  and  grace- 
fully majestic,  and  her  voice  was  clear,  full,  and  strong.  Her 
labor  and  industry  ivere  indefatigable.  "  MISTRESS  OF  TEARS  ! " 
versatility  marvelous  !  It  was  luxury  of  sadness  to  witness  her 
acting.  Audiences  would  be  drowned  in  tears  at  one  line  often 
repeated;  "  All  poor  Castalio  ! "  in  Monimia;  recognized  as 
one  of  England's  greatest  actresses  ;  has  a  monument  in  West- 
minster. 

Mrs.  Sarah  Siddons. — Her  acting  was  ease,  grace,  un- 
tiring energy  through  all  the  variations  of  the  human  passions, 


198  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

blended  into  that  grand  and  massive  style  which  was  the  result 
of  patient,  steady  application.  She  developed  new  trains  of 
thought  to  the  awakening  power,  like  those  which  Michael  An- 
gelo's  sketch  of  the  colossal  head  in  the  Farnesia  is  said  to  have 
had  on  the  mind  of  Raphael. 

Her  voice  at  first  was  miserably  thin  and  weak,  but  after- 
wards, by  practice  had  amazing  strength.  Hers  was  a  life- 
struggle  through  poverty  to  affluence  and  popularity.  Her  first 
effort  in  Portia,  ("  by  a  young  lady,")  was  a  wretchedly  weak 
affair.  Afterwards  the  most  prodigious  efforts  till  she  became 
Tragedy  itself.  Her  soul  was  greater  than  the  passions  she 
represented.  She  performed  the  greatest  things  with  child- 
like ease  ;  was  never  tasked  to  utmost ;  always  inexhaustible, 
and  the  last  word  or  motion  commanded  awe. 

She  made  astonishing  change  in  seven  years.  At  first  she 
shrank  Avith  terror  in  acting  with  Garrick.  The  glances  he 
gave  were  distressing  even  for  a  time  after.  He  never  saw  the 
genius  concealed  under  that  timidity.  But  she  had  industry  or 
she  might  have  attained  but  little.  She  acquired  a  face  of  as- 
tonishing expression  ;  her  action  rose  to  a  language  ;  and  her 
attitudes  became  models  for  artists. 

Naturally  she  was  candid  and  benignant,  and  in  public  was 
a  marked  person,  lofty,  never  childish. 

Her  love  of  her  profession  was  a  theatrical  joyousness. 

She  shed  tears  of  sensibility  on  seeing  her  brother  act. 

She  loved  Milton's  Paradise  Lost,  and  would  pore  over  it  for 
hours.  She  had  a  noble  air  and  elocution.  Ladies  wept  so 
excessively  over  her  acting  as  to  be  unfit  to  be  seen  the  next  day. 

In  her  earlier  career  was  once  nearly  crushed  in  being  dis- 
missed from  the  theatre  by  Garrick.  Her  after- triumphs  gave 
her  great  strength.  She  was  timid  but  energetic,  and  her 
nerves  were  delicate.  She  was  fragile,  fearfully  nervous,  and  in 
wretched  health,  but  yet  had  great  genius. 

She  met  with  miserable  failures  at  first  but  they  were  more 
than  made  up  in  the  end.  She  was  indefatigable  in  her  labors, 
and  within  a  year  after  her  dismissal  by  Garrick  was  recognized 
as  the  greatest  actress  that  ever  lived. 

She  gave  constant  study  and  profound  reflection  to  charac- 


MRS.    SIDDONS  — 1755  TO   1831. 


Began  n  to  13  years  of  age  (acting  poor);  at  19  Belvidera  (fair) ;  at  20  Portia,  Drury 
Lane,  (wretched  failure) ;  at  27  Isabella  (a  triumph). 


GREAT  ACTORS.  201 

ters  and  their  relations  to  the  play,  which  often  made  her  ab- 
stracted in  society.  She  was  always  wrought  up  to  seem  the 
character  even  before  she  went  to  the  theatre.  Even  in  rehear- 
sals she  appeared  in  agonies,  and  her  loftiness  was  such  as  to 
appear  as  if  an  elevated  soul  were  working  out. 

She  would  suffer  for  weeks  with  nervousness.  On  her  first 
regular  appearance  in  London  she  was  nearly  overcome  with  ter- 
ror, but  triumphed.  She  became  rapidly  the  theme.  She  was  a 
picture  to  every  eye.  Her  fidelity  was  so  terrible  that  moments 
were  counted  as  intolerable.  She  was  a  spectacle  of  wonder  and 
illusion  and  could  descend  from  the  proudest  pomp  to  the  most 
desolate  pathos,  and  intense  commiseration.  Her  semblance  of 
suffering  was  at  times  appalling.  People  were  proud  of  weeping, 
and  fainting  fits  were  frequent  at  her  fearful  realities.  Some- 
times her  words  were  thrillingly  prolonged.  Her  death-scenes 
baffled  description,  and  in  them  would  be  given  the  most  aston- 
ishing changes.  Her  eagle  eye  would  part  with  its  lustre,  and 
though  open  would  be  sightless ;  which  would  be  resumed  with 
the  last  spark  and  heart-piercing  words  to  expire. 

She  had  a  magic  delicacy  and  electrifying  manner.  It  was 
magnificence  inexpressible.  It  was  worth  a  journey  to  see  her 
walk  down  the  stage.  Her  grief  at  times  was  so  piercing  as  to 
choke  the  utterance,  and  bring  tears  on  the  faces  of  fellow-actors 
in  the  scene  with  her. 

She  constantly,  but  gradually,  improved  on  her  characters, 
and  studied  them  each  time  of  playing,  to  their  fullest  extent. 

There  was  sublimity  even  in  her  laugh  of  sarcasm. 

Her  very  body  seemed  to  think,  in  hurried,  and  then  delib- 
erated motion  and  gestures.  She  gave  vehemence  to  the  lowest 
despondency,  with  the  greatest  power,  or  the  softest  inflections 
with  the  most  exquisite  sensibility. 

Sometimes  it  would  be  sudden  bursts  of  heart-rending  sor- 
row, or  terrifying  imprecations,  as  from  indignant  majesty 
writhing  under  misery.  Sometimes  stood  as  if  stunned  with 
awful  surprise.  Her  shrieks  thrilled  every  nerve.  Her  expres- 
sion was  in  characters  of  fire. 

Her  intelligence  interpreted  even  the  very  silence  of  the 
poet.  In  noting  her  agony  of  astonishment,  or  in  listening  to 


202  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

her  sobs  of  reproach,  the  minutes  became  insupportable,  and 
the  audience  had  to  recover  at  the  intervals,  for  the  sympathy 
became  too  intense  to  be  long  endured.  Nothing  could  exceed 
the  swell  of  her  soul.  She  was  divinely  pure  in  her  acting. 

Her  mind  and  person  were  eminently  fitted  for  the  embodi- 
ment of  high  tragedy.  The  effect  of  her  acting  was  greater 
than  could  possibly  be  conceived  beforehand.  It  filled  and  over- 
powered the  mind. 

The  first  time  of  seeing  her  was  an  epoch  in  every  one's  life, 
and  left  impressions  which  could  never  be  forgotten.  She  ap- 
peared to  belong  to  a  superior  order  of  beings  ;  to  be  surrounded 
with  a  personal  awe,  like  some  prophetess  of  old,  or  Roman 
matron.  Her  voice  answered  to  her  form  and  her  expression  to 
both.  And  yet,  with  all  her  power,  with  the  rage  of  the  furies, 
her  common  recitation  was  faulty. 

She  prepared  herself  for  a  life  of  such  exertion  as  even  mocks 
the  toil  of  mere  manual  art. 

In  acting  with  others  she  disdained  help  or  hindrance ;  it 
apparently  made  no  difference. 

On  the  stage  she  appeared  to  have  no  private  existence ; 
was  only  the  character.  Her  mind  would  never  wander  from 
the  events  of  the  play.  She  was  so  profound  that  she  settled  at 
once  all  the  great  points  of  the  character. 

It  was  not  in  bits.,  but  a  high  judgment  over  all.  A  sustained 
understanding  and  self-devotion  to  part,  and  abstraction  from 
everything  else.  Her  performance  was  a  school  for  orators. 
And  often  was  seen  before  her.  sitting  together  in  the  pit,  all 
in  tears,  Burke,  Reynolds,  Fox,  Windham,  Sheridan  and  others. 

Her  acting  magnified  one's  conception  of  the  heart's  ca- 
pacity for  tender,  intense,  and  lofty  feelings,  for  she  seemed 
more  than  human.  With  a  commanding  intelligence  she 
seemed  to  bring  her  audience  before  her,  and  not  her  before 
audience. 

She  made  difficulties  easy.  One  of  the  greatest,  is  to  take 
station  on  the  stage  and  keep  it  self-possessed  and  indifferent  as 
to  change  of  place.  To  keep  the  centre  and  move  from  it.  To 
her  even  this  was  a  simple  thing.  She  filled  the  stage.  The 
roll  and  radiance  of  her  eye,  the  depth  of  her  pathos,  and  the 


GREAT  ACTORS.  203 

majesty  of  her  scorn  was  like  witnessing  some  god-like  soul 
pouring  forth  its  sensibility.  As  most  lofty  minded,  whatever 
she  touched  she  ennobled.  It  was  no  clap-trap — nothing  abrupt 
or  harsh — and  nothing  neglected,  but  from  first  to  last  the 
character,  with  each  emotion,  truth.  Each  part  perfect ;  no 
pauses  protracted  till  they  became  unintelligible.  All  that  was 
in  her  mind  went  to  her  countenance.  It  was  with  her  a  great 
fame  and  not  a  little  popularity.  In  study  however,  her  fancy 
was  sometimes  a  little  slow.  From  the  first  her  talents  very 
slowly  developed.  She  was  kind  hearted  :  was  too  elevated  to 
give  pain  to  any  one.  She  loved  children  and  would  romp  with 
them  in  the  greatest  glee.  She  was  a  great,  simple  being.  She 
was  firm  in  thought  and  a  profound  observer  of  human  life, 
but  she  had  no  vain  complacency. 

She  had  an  exact,  deliberate  articulation;  her  pronunciation 
was  systematic  and  refined  yet  natural. 

Even  personal  troubles  (sickness  in  family),  did  not  divert 
her  mind. 

Her  voice  was  naturally  plaintive  and  tender,  but  became,  at 
will,  sonorous  and  piercing.  When  overwhelmed  with  rage  or 
excited  to  wild  shrieks,  she  absolutely  harrowed  up  the  listener's 
soul. 

Her  brows  were  flexible  beyond  parallel.  She  was  entire 
mistress  of  herself.  Sparing  in  action,  yet  magnificent.  She 
was  not  seen  to  prepare  before  she  uttered  her  sentiments.  No 
tricks,  no  forced  expression  when  the  eye  showed  no  passion. 
Melancholy  hung  like  night  upon  her.  She  made  her  hearers 
start  with  horror.  Stupor  weighed  down  her  countenance  at 
pleasure.  No  comparisons  can  be  made  to  express  her  manner 
in  dreadful  soliloquy — her  tones,  her  look. 

Her  exits  at  times  killed  the  rest  of  the  scene.  Eeciproca- 
tion  of  looks,  combinations  of  attitudes,  meaning  of  every  line, 
quality  of  every  sound,  all  were  in  exact  unison.  She  possessed 
amazing  self-possession,  and  to  her  distance  was  only  the  true 
means.  In  the  hurry  of  distraction  she  would  stop ;  and  in 
frenzied  attitude  speak  wonders  to  the  eye,  till  a  second  rush 
forward  brought  her  to  a  speaking  position. 

Her  wide  walk,  her  vehement  and  commanding  sweep  of 


204  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

gesture,  the  perfection  of  her  voice  made  captive  all  who  heard 
her. 

She  had  the  utmost  patience  in  study,  never  wearied  of 
practice,  and  yet  all  appeared  like  sudden  inspiration,  and  she 
reached  that  point  where  art  ceases  to  be  art  and  becomes  a 
second  nature.  Her  mind-power  was  of  a  peculiar  kind  ;  slowly 
roused,  not  easily  moved,  and  her  perceptions  not  rapid,  nor 
her  sensations  quick  ;  she  required  time, — to  think,  to  compre- 
hend, to  speak.  Not  easily  moved  but  directed  by  an  incredible 
energy,  her  mind  when  called  to  action  seemed  like  a  great 
wave,  to  roll  onward  with  an  irresistible  force.  It  was  prodi- 
gious intellectual  power  allied  to  truth.  She  reverenced  truth 
and  was  integrity  itself.  The  ideal  was  her  vital  air,  and  she- 
breathed  with  difficulty  in  real  life.  She  was  credulous,  ami 
simple  to  an  extraordinary  degree.  Nothing  for  appearances, 
only  excellence  in  her  art.  Like  a  very  child. 

Her  mental  intelligence  seemed  unapproachable.  Whoever 
was  equal,  she  was  superior.  Where  others  delighted,  she  as- 
tonished. 

She  modeled  very  beautifully,  and  it  was  the  opinion  of 
many  that  had  she  not  been  the  great  actress,  she  could  have 
devoted  herself  to  sculpture.  Music  she  passionately  loved,  and 
sometimes  composed  and  even  sung  her  own  verses. 

Neither  money  nor  praise  affected  her  ;  she  was  too  great  to 
be  swayed  by  applause  and  approbation.  To  her  it  was  like  the 
noisy  surf  upon  the  rock,  and  like  the  rock  she  bore  it.  She  nev- 
er wore  the  air  of  an  actress,  and  seemed  unconscious  of  a  crowd.. 

Habits  of  punctuality  and  critical  self-observation  were 
among  the  secrets  of  her  astonishing  rise. 

She  was  always  in  character,  always  downright  in  earnest. 
She  would  not  wring  the  utmost  effect  from  every  line  to  inter- 
fere with  its  light  and  shade,  but  her  eye  was  full  of  informa- 
tion. Every  character  was  a  glowing  picture.  Once,  indeed, 
she  was  wrought  up  to  such  an  extent,  to  such  extreme  agita- 
tion, as  to  prove  even  perilous  to  her  life.  In  the  swoon  that 
followed  she  remained  a  long  time  before  recovery. 

To  a  late  period  of  her  life  she  continued  to  be  strongly,, 
sometimes  painfully,  excited  by  her  own  acting.  She  could  look 


GREAT  ACTORS,  205 

the  most  speaking  of  terrors.  She  was  never  at  fault  in  the 
most  awkward  situations.  Even  her  act  of  snatching  and  tear- 
ing a  letter,  and  her  rebuke,  perhaps  at  the  same  time,  were  as- 
tonishing effects.  She  herself  was  inside  of  her  design,  though 
out,  to  audience.  As  her  mind  quickened  her  figure  seemed  to 
•distend.  Sometimes  her  speech  was  like  a  torrent,  but  at  any 
time  so  true  as  never  to  think  of  audience  and  audience  only 
thought  of  her.  She  left  her  home  in  the  character. 

She  sometimes  gave  vitality  to  a  line  that  seemed  to  stamp  it 
forever.  And  yet  with  all  her  stateliness  she  was  addicted  to 
drollery,  and  could  sing  with  great  gusto  in  private  society,  a 
burlesque  song  called  "Billy  Taylor" 

Her  method. — She  studied  her  characters  first  in  a  general 
way  to  see  if  in  accord  with  nature.  Her  study  was  silent.  At 
rehearsal  she  tried  and  knew  her  voice,  and  also  when  she  prac- 
ticed with  Sheridan  at  the  theatre  to  have  his  judgment  before 
acting  her  characters. 

Then  when  she  played  she  always  seemed  to  throw  herself  on 
nature,  and  follow  instantaneously  what  she  suggested.  One 
forgot  they  were  looking  at  a  play,  for  she  was  more  than  an 
actress  by  seeming  to  be  none  at  all  b^^t  rather  a  living  reality. 
It  was  not  to  methodize  words,  but  to  express  passions.  All 
seemed  to  be  without  study,  but  as  conceived  on  the  spot. 

In  teaching  her  pupils,  as  a  special  direction,  one  of  the  ut- 
most importance,  she  told  them  to  "  TAKE  TIME  ! " 

The  homage  she  received  was  greater  than  that  paid  to 
queens.  The  enthusiasm  she  excited  had  something  idolatrous 
about  it.  She  was  regarded  less  with  admiration  than  wonder. 
She  raised  tragedy  above  nature.  She  was  Tragedy.  She  was 
the  stateliest  ornament  of  the  public  mind. 

In  middle  life  she  had  a  fixed  paleness,  seldom  tinged  with 
color,  even  in  the  whirlwind  of  passion.  Light  came  and  went 
across  those  finest  of  features  at  the  coming  and  going  of  each 
thought  and  feeling ;  but  faint  was  the  change  of  hue  on  that 
glorious  marble.  It  was  the  magnificent  countenance  of  an 
animated  statue,  instinct  with  all  the  emotions  of  life. 

Her  Characters. — Isabella. — People  in  the  audience  wept 


206  Acri.\<;  A.\D  ORATORY. 

outright  during  the  whole  performance.  Regal,  always  femi- 
nine, yet  seemed  to  tower  beyond  her  sex.  Her  "  business1'  was 
splendid  pantomime.  The  image  was  actually  before  the  audi- 
ence. Her  expression  of  contempt  baffles  description.  In  the 
laugh  that  she  gave  as  she  plunged  the  dagger  into  her  bosom 
the  audience  were  too  ill  to  applaud.  She  was  Virgil's  mighty 
Amazon. 

Jane  Shore. — Excited  pity  but  not  disgust.  It  was  not 
squalor  and  cant.  Her  frame  seemed  enfeebled,  and  features 
prominent.  Her  dull  eye  was  viewed  with  breathless  agitation. 
A  terrific  picture,  when  pushed  from  the  door.  Her  death- 
scene  drew  forth  shrieks  and  filled  the  house  with  a  stifled  feel- 
ing, crowded  as  it  was  to  suffocation.  Her  look  and  step,  a 
sullen  picture  of  solitude,  amazingly  perfected.  Nothing  could 
exceed  her  agony,  and  her  apathy.  Her  frantic  expressions 
were  like  thunderbolts. 

Mrs.  Beverly. — When  Stukely  declares  his  love — the  look 
of  incredulity  and  astonishment ;  then  anger,  then  contempt, 
and  ending  in  bitter  scorn,  and  a  convulsive  burst  of  laughter  all 
in  a  moment,  and  laying  open  every  movement  of  the  soul — 
produced  an  effect  never  to  be  forgotten.  On  one  occasion  had 
to  prompt  an  old  actor,  who  forgot  his  lines,  so  spell-bound  had 
he  become  by  her  fearful  astonishment,  at  the  announcement 
he  had  made  respecting  Beverly.  On  beholding  the  corpse  of 
her  husband  she  stood  with  a  gaze  of  blank  horror,  a  mute  stare 
of  misery  and  absolute  woe  that  beggars  words. 

Margaret. — The  giantess  burst  upon  the  view,  and  stood  in 
the  centre  of  the  arch  motionless,  and  so  electrifying  as  to 
render  the  spectator  breathless,  with  head  erect,  brilliant  eyes, 
her  wrists  in  chains.  With  no  action,  except  a  rapid  walk,  and 
a  sudden  stop  in  the  archway  that  seemed  to  be  filled ;  while  a 
smile  of  appalling  triumph  played  upon  her  magnificent 
features. 

Aspasia. — Such  looks  of  inexpressible  anguish.  Her  break- 
ing heart  seemed  veritably  to  be  seen,  as  the  cold,  rapid  ad- 
vances of  death  were  traced  upon  her  countenance,  and  she  fell 
without  utterance  as  if  by  destiny.  It  was  unearthly  power — 
it  absolutely  terrified  spectators  and  she  herself  lay  senseless 


GREAT  ACTORS.  207 

from  the  intensity  of  her  own  acting.     It  was  an  amazing  pic- 
ture. 

Queen  Constance. — She  left  her  dressing-room  door  open  to 
hear  the  sickening  sounds  of  the  march  which  excited  tears  of 
bitter  rage.  The  spirit  of  the  whole  play  took  possession  of  her. 
She  became  riveted  to  the  passing  scenes,  and  while  goaded  and 
stung  to  madness,  desperate  and  ferocious  as  a  hunted  tigress,  it 
seemed  as  if  existence  itself  must  issue  forth  with  her  frantic 
and  appalling  exclamations.  With  what  a  countenance  and 
voice  did  she  realize  her  scorn  and  indignation,  and  awful, 
trembling  solemnity,  the  utter  helplessness  of  soul-subduing, 
prophetic  invocations  ;  whirlwinds  of  the  soul !  Such  gor^ 
geous  affliction  ;  could  make  fictitious  griefs  real.  Arthur's 
collar  would  be  wet  with  her  weeping,  and  in  the  character  she 
would  invariably  leave  the  stage  her  face  streaming  with  tears, 
such  was  her  great  sensibility,  which  was  the  secret  of  all  her 
great  success. 

So  sublime  and  intense  ;  grand,  rapid.  Such  astonishing 
eloquence,  the  mind  almost  overwhelmed,  and  the  frame  ex- 
hausted. Art  despairs  of  realizing  and  the  effort  itself  was  even 
almost  life- exhausting.  A  terrific  trial,  and  yet  at  times,  con- 
trasted by  total  repose. 

Queen  Katharine. — Majesty  of  deportment  which  imposed 
reverence,  and  gave  to  it  that  clear,  intelligent,  unlabored 
elocution  which  unravels  all  the  intricacies  of  language,  illu- 
minates obscurity  and  points  out  and  unfolds  the  precise  truth 
of  meaning  to  every  apprehension.  She  gave  this  unrivaled 
excellence  to  every  speech.  To  the  king  she  was  awful  and  im- 
pressive in  dignity  of  appeal.  It  was  searching  solemnity  when 
she  interrupts  the  wretched  instrument  of  Wolsey.  She  had 
tremendous  force,  and  exquisite  truth,  in  the  sorrowful,  affec- 
tionate, dignified  address  to  her  husband,  and  expressed  extra- 
ordinary sublimity  when  opposed  in  her  request  for  delay.  Her 
unequaled  acting  at  all  times  filled  the  scene.  With  terrific 
pride  of  innocence,  her  form  seemed  to  expand  beyond  human. 
Natural  gradations. — then  sudden  transitions,  all  with  match- 
less ease.  Her  efforts  to  suppress  her  grief,  and  then  "  sparks 
of  fire "  through  her  tears,  were  wonderful.  Her  withering 


208  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

poignancy  of  scorn,  and  deep  solemnity  of  reproach  were  awful 
us  from  the  agitations  of  her  very  soul. 

The  death-scene  evinced  extraordinary,  unlimited,  faultless 
powers  extending  over  the  entire  regions  of  tragedy.  It  was  a 
tremendous  wielding  of  all  its  parts.  She  was  saintly  beautiful 
in  her  sickness  and  grief,  with  feeble,  falling  frame,  and  death- 
stricken  features,  accompanied  by  a  morbid  fretfulness  of  look, 
and  a  restless  desire  to  change  place  and  position.  An  impa- 
tient solicitude  seeking  relief  from  irritability  of  illness  by  often 
shifting  in  her  chair.  The  pillows  under  her  head,  now  and 
then  adjusted,  and  bending  forward  and  resting  on  her  knees, 
playing  with  the  drapery  with  restless,  uneasy  fingers  ;  and  all 
with  such  delicacy  as  to  be  really  beautiful  and  affecting ;  every 
part  being  minute  and  watchful,  as  belonging  to  a  whole.  It 
was  astonishing  nicety  of  powers  gradually  decaying.  And 
such  was  the  oppressive  truth  of  her  representation,  with  its 
load  of  sorrow  and  tenderness  as  to  prevent  applause.  Persons 
were  dumb  at  her  fidelity. 

Volumnia. — She  rose  above  her  sex  and  seemed  worthy  to 
bear  about  her  the  destinies  of  imperial  Eome.  Her  majesty 
made  others  mean.  She  forgot  her  identity  and  did  not  march 
in  the  procession  across  the  stage,  with  the  solemn,  stately,  and 
conventional  step.  She  was  not  tied  down  to  the  directions  of 
the  prompter's  book ;  she  broke  through  old  traditions,  and  so, 
instead  of  dropping  each  foot  in  cadence,  yet  sensitive  to  her 
haughty  mother's  heart,  with  flashing  eye  and  head  erect,  hands 
pressed  firmly  on  her  bosom,  she  towered  above  all,  and  her 
soul  rioting  in  exultation,  she  came  beating  time  to  the  music, 
rolling  and  swaying  from  side  to  side,  almost  reeling,  swelling 
•with  the  triumph  of  her  son  and  the  intoxication  of  her  joy, 
while  the  plaudits  of  the  multitude  shook  the  building.  She 
seemed  to  have  all  the  glory  to  herself ;  she  was  the  centre — 
the  rest  were  nothing ! 

Lady  Macbeth. — The  first  time  she  played  the  character, 
she  says,  "So  little  did  I  know  of  my  part  when  it  came  night, 
that  my  shame  and  confusion  cured  me  for  the  remainder  of  my 
life  of  procrastinating  my  business"  Immediately  after  this 
first  performance,  even  while  in  her  dressing-room,  she  recalled 


GREAT  ACTORS.  209 

what  she  had  done,  and  practiced  various  improvements.  She 
never  afterwards  went  on  the  stage  to  perform  it,  without 
spending  the  entire  morning  in  studying  and  meditating  it, 
line  by  line,  as  intently  as  if  she  were  about  to  act  it  for  the 
first  time. 

In  "the  letter  scene" — the  apathy  of  a  demon;  with  an 
amazing  burst  at  "  shalt  IP-,"  which  fairly  startled.  Her  deter- 
mination seemed  like  fate.  A  searching  analysis  of  him.  Eye 
and  hand  were  full  of  meaning.  In  the  invocation,  "  You  wait 
on  nature's  mischief,''  she  gave  an  elevation  to  her  brows,  with 
full  eyes, — raised  her  shoulders,  hollowed  her  hands  and  made 
a  terrible  figure.  Macbeth,  as  he  met  her,  sank  under  the 
effect.  In  "give  me  the  daggers,''  a  fiend-like  woman  ;  and  as 
she  wrenched  them  from  his  hands,  there  was  a  general  start  of 
the  audience.  Then  such  contempt  on  her  return  from  the 
king's  apartment.  In  "the  banquet  scene,"  those  quick  and 
careless  tones  of  terror,  with  a  facility  in  her  manner  that 
rendered  her  at  once  tremendous  and  delightful.  Her  manner 
of  dismissing  the  guests  at  the  banquet,  and  of  rubbing  her 
hands  in  "  the  sleeping  scene"  were  among  her  finest  things. 
In  the  latter  scene  she  had  a  bewildered  melancholy,  uncon- 
scious of  what  she  did.  She  moved  her  lips  involuntarily,  and 
all  her  gestures  were  mechanical  and  merely  automatic.  She 
glided  on  and  off  the  stage  almost  like  an  apparition.  After 
playing  the  part  she  could  not  sleep,  so  thoroughly  did  she 
become  imbued  with  its  emotions. 

On  her  last  appearance  she  was  fifty-six  years  of  age,  and 
such  were  the  crowds  that  had  gathered  to  see  her  in  Lady 
Macbeth,  the  play  on  that  occasion,  that  persons  were  in  danger 
of  being  crushed.  After  the  sleep-walking  scene  the  applause 
became  ungovernable,  and  the  audience  stood  on  the  seats  and 
demanded  che  piece  to  close. 

Edmund  Kean. — At  three  and  four  years  of  age  a  little 
outcast.  From  eight  to  ten  he  dances  and  tumbles  at  fairs  ;  a 
wild,  ungovernable  boy,  but  tender,  generous,  affectionate  and 
sincere.  From  twelve  to  nineteen  Miss  Tidswell  turned  his  at- 
tention to  elocution  and  Shakespeare,  and  tied  him  to  a  bed-post 


210  ACTING   A.\D    OR  A  TO/.1}'. 

in  order  to  teach  him.  His  supposed  mother  was  ;i  stroller  and 
peddled  wares,  while  he  recited  ;tt  gentlemen's  housi-s.  JI<>  \\a> 
starved  and  kicked  ;  treated  like  a  dog,  but  became  a  wonder 
even  in  early  years.  He  went  behind  the  scenes  at  Drury  Lane 
to  see  Kemble,  and  a  conception  of  his  future  dawned  upon  him. 
He  afterwards  played  Young  Norval  to  Mrs.  Siddons.  He 
played  well  but  thought  nothing  of  as  to  ever  being  great.  But, 
lie  had  seen  Siddons  and  resolved  to  be  an  actor.  He  was  made 
sport  of  but  nothing  daunted  him.  He  married  and  then  slaved 
and  starved  in  unparalleled  misery.  He  taught  for  means. 
They  suffered  misery  and  degradation,  all  that  could  be,  and 
live.  Even  when  a  strolling  player,  his  miseries  unlimited,  he 
constantly  thought  of  being  a  great  actor,  and  no  reverses  pre- 
vented his  murmur  of  predicted  greatness,  and  yet  charity 
sometimes  saved  him  from  absolute  starvation. 

The  stage  manager  of  Drury  Lane  saw  him  act  in  the  sub- 
urbs and  engaged  him.  He  was  hysterical  with  delight  as  he 
rushed  home  to  his  wife  exclaiming — ''  I  shall  go  mad  if  I  suc- 
ceed." He  went  to  London,  starving,  and  sick,  and  pale,  but 
was  so  dispirited  aud  furious  with  the  treatment  of  the  com- 
mittee, who  endeavored  to  put  him  off,  that  he  contemplated 
suicide. 

His  turn  came  at  last — but  objections  were  raised  to  his 
method  of  playing  Shylock,  but  he  determined  to  have  it  his 
own  way.  The  night  carne — it  was  stormy  and  sleety — the 
actors  mocked  his  costume,  but  fifty  or  sixty  people  in  the 
house,  but  his  triumph  came.  Confident,  with  resolute  bearing, 
he  steps  before  those  few.  His  very  body  thought ;  such  truth, 
beauty,  significance  ;  his  acting  was  a  study.  Such  originality, 
force,  a  mighty  master  ;  at  the  ill-luck  of  Antonio  the  audience 
broke  forth  into  a  whirlwind  of  applause.  His  genius  was  ac- 
knowledged with  an  enthusiasm  that  shook  the  roof.  Home 
he  went  in  delirious,  frenzied  ecstasy  to  his  wife,  and  they  wept 
together. 

After  years  of  maddening  scorn,  poverty,  drudgery,  neglect, 
he  vaulted  at  one  bound  into  an  almost  fabulous  popularity, 
courted  and  f£ted,  and  reaping  an  income  of  over  fifty  thousand 
dollars  a  year. 


GREAT  ACTORS.  .  211 

But  notwithstanding  the  great  change  in  his  fortune  and 
circumstances,  he  was  painfully  conscious  of  the  defects  of  his 
education,  and  of  his  ignorance  of  the  manners  of  good  society. 
It  was  a  source- of  exquisite  pain  to  him.  and  his  apprehension 
of  committing  any  solecism  in  good-breeding  kept  him  in  a 
state  of  extreme  discomfort. 

With  sensibilities  of  extreme  delicacy  and  passions  of  terrific 
energy  he  combined  a  natural  and  sedulously  cultivated  ability 
of  giving  to  the  outer  signs  of  inner  states  their  utmost  possible 
distinctness  and  intensity.  Perhaps  there  never  was.  within 
his  range,  a  greater  master  of  the  physiological  language  of  the 
soul,  one  who  set  facial  expression  in  more  vivid  relief.  In  his 
most  impassioned  moods  his  voice  suggested  the  frenzied  energy 
of  the  tiger.  He  spoke  then  in  a  stammering  staccato  of  spas- 
modic outbursts  which  shook  others  because  they  threatened  to 
shatter  him.  His  blood  ran  racing  through  his  veins. 

His  acting  was  no  effort  of  will,  no  trick  or  art  of  calcula- 
tion, but  nature  set  free  in  its  deepest  intensity,  just  on  the 
edge,  sometimes  over  the  verge,  of  madness.  He  penetrated 
and  incorporated  himself  with  the  characters  he  represented 
until  he  possessed  them  so  completely  that  they  possessed  him, 
and  their  performance  was  not  simulation  but  revelation. 

He  broiight  the  truth  and  simplicity  of  nature  to  the  stage, 
but  nature  in  her  most  intensified  degrees.  His  playing  was  a 
manifestation  of  inspired  intuitions,  infallibly  true  and  irresisti- 
bly sensational.  It  came  not  from  the  surfaces  of  his  brain, 
but  from  the  very  centres  of  his  nervous  system,  and  suggested 
something  portentous,  preternatural,  supernal,  that  blinded 
and  stunned  the  beholders,  appalled  their  imagination,  chilled 
and  curdled  their  blood. 

He  was  an  actor  of  splendid  endowments  in  the  highest  de- 
partments of  the  art.  He  was  an  artist,  and  in  art  all  effects 
are  regulated.  Unless  nice  proportion  could  be  preserved  it 
would  be  but  fitful  impulse.  He  patiently  rehearsed  every  de- 
tail, trying  the  tones,  practicing  looks  and  gestures  until  sat- 
isfied. 

His  instinct  taught  him  what  few  actors  are  taught,  that  a 
strong  emotion,  after  discharging  itself  in  one  massive  current. 


212  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

continues  for  a  time  expressing  itself  in  feebler  currents.  In 
•Mulching  his  quivering  muscles  and  altered  tones  you  felt  the 
subsidence  of  passion.  The  voice  calm,  but  a  tremor  in  it ;  the 
face  quiet,  but  vanishing  traces  of  the  agitation. 

Instead  of  controlling  and  arranging  the  course  of  his  pas- 
sions on  the  stage,  he  gave  way  to  the  natural  and  strong  im- 
pulses of  his  imagination.  '•'  a  load  to  sink  a  navy." 

Appalling  in  reality,  he  could  stand  for  minutes  and  calling 
up  in  succession  all  the  shades  and  degrees  of  passion  into  his 
countenance,  and  move  his  audience  to  silence  and  to  tears. 
Truth  was  his  first  object.  When  let  loose  on  the  ocean  of  his 
pu^ion,  he  drove  on  like  an  abandoned  barque  in  darkness  and 
tempest ;  absolutely  grand,  resistless,  no  show,  no  pretence. 
He  made  heroes  men.  He  had  exquisite  taste  and  judgment. 
Unaffected,  simple,  genuine.  Unsophisticated  nature,  great 
sensibility,  poetic  nature. 

In  character  he  was  never  still.  One  of  his  greatest  charms 
was  utter  forgetf ulness  of  audience.  He  never  sought  applause 
but  was  always  attentive  to  the  scene.  At  times  the  fire  and  ra- 
pidity of  his  action  made  every  heart  leap  with  his  own.  It  was 
genuine  impulse,  the  life-blood  of  acting.  He  had  infinite  va- 
riety ;  even  horror  seemed  a  part  of  him.  All  premeditated  and 
studied  beforehand,  and  then  played  differently. 

He  studied  the  human  face  and  the  tempers  and  passions 
around  him  wherever  he  went.  He  carefully  studied  every  part 
with  all  the  earnestness  of  his  soul,  over  and  over,  and  perfected 
himself  in  every  way.  He  seemed  to  intuitively  experience  all 
he  did  rather  than  consciously  assert  it.  He  used  to  mope  about 
for  hours,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  walking  for  miles, 
thinking  intensely  on  his  characters,  and  no  one  could  get  a 
word  from  him.  He  studied  and  slaved  beyond  anything  known. 
Shut  himself  up  once  for  two  days  to  study  one  line,  "  Bertram 
hath  kissed  thy  child  ! "  The  effect  was  electrical.  Beauties 
of  his  performance  marvelous,  in  common  phrases.  Terribly 
in  earnest  with  his  study  ;  indefatigable  industry.  Sometimes 
would  remain  up  all  night  before  the  glass.  At  times  appeared 
like  a  fury ;  and  shook  like  a  strong  oak  in  the  whirlwind  of  his 
passionate  vengeance.  Personal  appearance — five  feet  four 


GREAT  ACTORS.  213 

inches  in  height,  thick  set,  raven  black  hair,  wonderful  eye,  and 
countenance.  Great  natural  genius,  but  without  cultivation, 
would  have  never  been  a  great  actor. 

Othello. — Touching,  limpid,  unutterable  tenderness  over 
every  mention  of  Desdemona's  name.  Transcendent  power  in 
his  abandon  to  convulsive  passion  ;  every  detail  so  natural,  so 
devoid  of  common-place  and  mannerism.  "  Not  a  jot"  laid 
open  his  agony  of  soul.  Then  every  tone,  every  moment  under 
accumulated  agonies  of  love  struggling,  and  yielding  to  doubt. 
His  entrance  abrupt  and  informal,  dignity  useless.  As  lago 
spoke  to  him  he  bade  him  begone  as  if  accustomed  to  command. 
He  gazed  until  this  first  burst  of  passion  recoiled  upon  himself, 
and  dropping  his  arms  he  relapsed  to  utter  exhaustion. 

As  the  scene  progressed  he  sprang  up  with  infinite  volume 
of  fierce  expression,  fever  of  the  blood,  and  a  cry  of  wild  grin- 
ning desperation.  He  glared  upon  lago  ;  seized  him  and  tossed 
him  aside  with  frightful  vehemence.  Then  quiet  despair,  and 
utter  sinking  after  powerful  passion.  In  the  farewell,  all  hope 
gone  ;  desolation  ;  alienated  mind  ;  lingering  fondness  ;  still 
despair  ;  which  went  deep  to  the  heart.  Then  again  a  storm  of 
contending  passions,  rage,  hate,  doubt,  with  concentrated  force 
and  passionate  abandonment.  At  length  all  to  revenge,  fearful 
and  thrilling.  Then  mind  perplexed,  utter  self-abandonment, 
absolutely  heart-rending  ;  smothered  passion,  fixed  jaws,  agitated 
nostrils,  distended  veins,  dilated  eye,  obstructed  respiration, 
dumb  action,  mute  eloquence,  miserable  despondency.  At  last 
intense  as  he  slew.  Then  consummately  graded  to  gloomy  still- 
ness of  despair  at  discovery.  Then  almost  inarticulately,  with 
half  smile  of  wonder  at  his  incredible  stupidity.  But  yet  with 
an  overwhelming  conviction  of  his  mistake,  still  indomitable 
manliness  of  spirit  in  the  midst  of  desolation.  All  dead  calm. 
His  speech  an  artifice  to  elude,  his  accent  with  touches  of  in- 
curable sadness  to  a  heroic  spirit,  he  simulated  pride,  and  his 
eyes  wandered  with  moist,  searching  brilliancy  from  face  to  face, 
and  then  with  inimitable  strength  and  beauty.  As  he  struck,  a 
cold  shudder  swept  over  him.  It  was  marvelous.  All  as  in  real 
life.  The  finest  possible  acting.  He  looked  the  very  face,  the 
marble  aspect  of  Dante's  Ugolino  (horror).  His  voice  broke 


214  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

from  his  breast  us  if  his  lips  were  distilling  drops  of  blood  from 
his  heart.  It  was  wonderful  truth,  for  he  delineated  his  pas- 
sions only  from  the  expression  that  the  soul  gives  to  the  voice 
and  features.  Yet  six  months  before  a  despised  itinerant. 

Macbeth. — A  wonderful  compound  of  daring  and  irresolu- 
tion ;  ambition  and  submission  ;  treachery  and  affection  ;  super- 
stition and  neglect  of  the  future  ;  murder  and  penitence  ;  spir- 
itual and  linked  to  spirits  of  evil.  The  soliloquy  "If'tn'iTi- 
done,"  was  a  world  of  argument ;  a  glance,  an  inflection  spoke 
volumes.  He  was  daring,  dubious,  rapid,  soldier-like.  Natural 
irritations  of  the  man,  sensitive  to  obloquy ;  noble-minded 
eulogy  on  Duncan.  In  "the  dagger  scene,"  he  was  delirious  ; 
with  fascinated  gaze  till  more  distinct;  then  with  the  blood  ;  and 
towards  the  door.  Bewildered  with  terror  ;  brain-sick  ;  shrank 
from  belief  of  it ;  then  repentant  agony  and  sudden  contrast. 
Then  comparison  between  sleep  and  murder.  With  great  hesi- 
tation and  impeded  utterance.  In  '•'  the  murder  scene,"  with 
broken  accents,  gasping  guilty  and  utter  stupefaction  ;  pale  and 
trembling,  awful  fear,  shuddering  agony,  which  impoverishes 
description.  In  viewing  his  bloody  hands  his  voice  clung  to  his 
throat  and  choked  him  ;  tears  followed,  nature  overcome.  In 
•'  the  death  scene"  with  horror  repelled  the  idea  of  fighting 
with  the  man  he  had  so  deeply  injured  ;  extraordinary  contempt 
of  tone  ;  then  awful  condensation  of  feeling  after  all  hope  is 
gone.  Voice  choked  and  stifled  ;  overwhelming  feelings ; 
terribly  impetuous  and  eager  to  hold  out ;  the  death-blow  a 
fine  contrast  of  fierceness  and  feebleness  ;  soul  above  body, 
then  fell  upon  his  face.  All  without  the  slightest  appearance 
of  effort. 

Sir  Giles  Overreach. — Such  wild  and  terrible  intensity  as  to 
drive  people  from  the  theatre  in  hysterics. 

From  the  moment  he  appeared  his  eye  told  the  audience  he 
was  in  the  part.  In  the  last  scene  his  arm  seemed  to  paralyze 
and  shrivel  with  the  action  of  his  sword  meeting  his  foes,  as  if 
cursed.  His  rage,  his  thickened  voice,  his  quivering  lips,  his 
body  tottering  from  a  temporary  deprivation  of  his  senses,  a 
storm  of  passion,  a  tempest  of  vengeance,  such  tremendous 
force,  such  terrible  despair,  a  torpor  so  fixed  and  shocking,  and 


GREAT  ACTORS,  215 

such  violence  of  agony  was  the  very  highest  possibility.  Tear- 
ing his  collar  and  shirt-baud  to  ribbons  in  his  suffocation  he 
died  such  a  death  as  to  wring  screams  from  the  audience.  The 
pit  rose  en  masse  at  such  unparalleled  acting.  Mrs.  Glover 
fainted  011  the  stage  ;  Mrs.  Howell  staggered  to  a  chair  and 
wept  aloud  at  the  appalling  sight.  Mr.  Munden  stood  transfixed 
with  terror  and  was  taken  off  the  stage,  his  eyes  riveted  on 
Kean's  convulsed  and  blackened  countenance.  Behind  the 
scenes  he  recovered  and  murmured,  "  My  God,  is  it  possible." 
It  was  the  most  terrific  exhibition  of  human  passion  on  the 
modern  stage.  The  last  part,  limbs  impotent,  face  livid,  horri- 
ble ;  eyes  distended,  then  utterly  prostrate,  lifeless  ;  lips  swollen 
and  parted  at  the  corners  ;  teeth  set,  and  visage  quivering  till 
death. 

Brutus. — The  audience  sat  suffusod  in  tears  during  the  last 
pathetic  interview,  until  Brutus  falls  on  the  neck  of  Titus,  ex- 
claiming, "  Embrace  thy  wretched  father,"  when  they  broke 
forth  into  peals  of  approbation.  Kean  then  whispered  in  his 
son's  ear,  ' ;  Charlie,  we  are  doing  the  trick  !  " 

Hamlet. — To  the  mind,  not  eye.  With  Ophelia  very  beauti- 
ful. Death — awful. 

Richard  III. — The  grandest  flight  into  the  tragic  atmos- 
phere. His  daring  and  comprehensive  intelligence  seized  with 
the  grasp  of  a  giant  on  every  passage.  He  had  an  enormous 
strength  of  will  and  understanding  ;  a  profound  knowledge  of 
the  human  soul.  He  entered  with  a  step  so  natural  and  ap- 
propriate as  to  absolutely  startle ;  as  if  conscious  only  of  his 
own  reflections,  his  own  gigantic  thought.  In  the  soliloquy  no 
studied  declamation  ;  all  easy,  natural,  unlabored  ;  as  if  solely 
occupied  with  thinking.  When  he  rushed  to  the  combat,  it 
was  with  such  frightfulness,  such  grandeur  as  to  set  one's  heart 
beating.  In  the  fight,  while  wounded,  he  disdained  to  fall  ; 
he  fixed  his  eyes  with  an  intellectually  grand  and  heroic  power; 
expanded  his  breast  with  more  than  human  spirit ;  with  action 
preternatural  and  terrific  ;  with  arms  extended  in  motionless 
despair,— in  calm,  dreadful  defiance.  It  was  truly  a  magnifi- 
cent effort.  Its  sublimity  filled  all  with  silent  wonder,  awe  and 
admiration. 


Oil)  ACTING  AND   ORATORY. 

The  first  time  of  Eichard  III.  in  London,  he  was  almost 
paralyzed  with  fright,  for  days  before  the  performance,  and  was 
ill  for  a  week  after  it. 

Kean's  talent  was  of  the  true  sort,  and  he  could  afford  to 
trifle  ;  he  could  shift  its  aspect,  and  still  show  that  it  was 
bright.  He  could  do  things  from  which  a  less  gifted  person 
would  have  recoiled.  A  man  below  his  zenith  perpetually  cavils 
and  stands  upon  his  petty  rights  and  imaginary  dignities ;  and 
it  is  a  test  of  genius  to  give  forth  its  qualities  without  stint, 
conscious  that  nothing  can  degrade  it  except  meanness,  and 
that  its  spring  will  not  be  exhausted. 

Mrs.  Jordan. — If  Mrs.  Siddons  appeared  a  personification 
of  the  tragic  muse  certainly  all  the  attributes  of  Thalia  were  most 
joyously  combined  in  Mrs.  Jordan.  With  a  spirit  of  fun  that 
would  have  out-laughed  Puck  himself,  there  was  a  discrimina- 
tion, an  identity  with  her  character,  an  artistic  arrangement  of 
the  scene  that  made  all  appear  spontaneous  and  accidental, 
though  elaborated  with  the  greatest  care.  Her  voice  was  most 
melodious,  and  she  could  vary  it  by  certain  bass  tones  that 
would  have  disturbed  the  gravity  of  a  hermit;  and  who  that 
once  heard  that  laugh  of  hers  could  ever  forget  it.  It  was  so  rich, 
so  apparently  irrepressible,  so  deliciously  self-enjoying,  as  to  be 
at  all  times  irresistible,  and  contagious.  *'•'  Oh,  the  words  laughed 
on  her  lips  ! "  At  rehearsals,  this  charming  actress  was  so 
minute,  and  so  particular  in  her  directions  ;  nor  would  she  be 
satisfied,  till  by  repetition,  she  had  seen  the  business  executed 
exactly  to  her  wish.  The  whole  of  the  moving  picture,  the  very 
life  of  the  scene  was  perfect  in  her  mind,  and  she  transferred  it 
in  all  its  earnestness  to  every  movement  on  the  stage.  There 
have  been  many  Volantes  since,  but  none  like  her  could  excite 
the  bursts  of  rapture  in  an  audience,  when  she  recovered  from 
the  deadly  agony  into  which  her  fears  of  discovery  had  thrown 
her,  and  prepared  herself  for  the  triumph  over  her  jealous 
lover.  The  mode  in  which  she  taught  the  Flora  to  act  her  part 
was  a  lesson  to  make  an  actress.  She  acted  all  over.  It  was  a 
perfection  of  the  enjoyment  of  motion.  It  was  arms,  legs  and 
body  in  happy  action. 


GREAT    ACTORS.  217 

The  Elder  Booth. — There  was  a  terrible  and  beautiful 
meaning  to  his  look,  a  charm  in  his  massive  and  resonant  voice, 
With  hirn  it  was  absolute  sincerity.  There  was  an  intellectual 
beauty  in  his  personations  ;  a  marvelous  delicacy.  It  was  cumu- 
lative and  energetic  evolution  of  character. 

In  person  he  was  short,  spare,  muscular,  with  a  head  and  face 
of  antique  beauty,  pale,  but  healthy  pallor.  He  had  a  magnetic 
brain,  with  sound  and  capacious  lungs,  vascular  and  fibrous 
throat,  and  clearness  and  amplitude  in  the  interior  mouth  and 
nasal  passages  to  form  its  physical  basis.  Had  a  changeful  voice, 
vast  in  volume,  of  marvelous  flexibility  and  range. 

He  spoke  like  a  man  thinking  aloud.  He  possessed  himself 
of  the  character  and  acted  from  inspiration.  He  gave  a  preter- 
natural energy  and  a  fiery  expedition  to  his  acting.  It  was  un- 
expectedness as  if  the  character.  His  presence  was  felt  even 
when  off  the  stage.  His  voice  sometimes  a  volcanic  eruption 
of  inarticulate  speech,  a  mighty  tide  of  passion,  accelerating,, 
rushing  on,  at  times  broken  by  fearful  pauses  of  thought,  fol- 
lowed by  smiting  blows  of  logic,  like  the  hush  before  the  thun- 
der-stroke. Sometimes  like  hissing  foam  between  set  teeth. 

In  lago — A  splendid  devil,  voice  above  singing,  abrupt,  col- 
loquial. To  Othello  he  lied  like  truth.  Silent  tears  of  strong- 
men carried  by  the  imaginative  stress  of  the  scene  beyond  the 
reaches  of  their  critical  culture — bear  witness  ;  spectators  held 
their  breath  in  dreadful  expectation.  He  conveyed  impressions. 

In  Macbeth. — He  launched  the  mysterious  power  of  his  voice 
like  the  sudden  rising  of  a  mighty  wind  from  some  unknown 
source,  over  those  multitudinous  waves,  and  they  swelled  and 
congregated  dim  and  vast  before  the  eye  of  the  mind.  It  was 
unparalleled  grandeur.  After  murder  infinite  remorse. 

His  figure  seemed  to  dilate  with  the  vast  expansion  of  his 
will.  He  had  a  wonderful  resource  of  voice  and  look,  and  equal 
vividness  and  variety  of  action.  His  was  such  control  over  the 
vital  and  voluntary  functions  that  he  could  tremble  from  head 
to  foot,  or  tremble  in  one  outstretched  arm  to  finger  tips  while 
holding  it  in  the  firm  grasp  of  the  other  hand.  The  veins  of 
his  corded  and  magnificent  neck  would  swell  and  the  whole 


218  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

throat  and  face  become  suffused  with  crimson  in  a  moment,  in 
the  crisis  of  passion,  to  be  succeeded  on  the  ebb  of  feeling,  by 
an  ashy  paleness.  He  commanded  his  own  pulses  as  well  as  the 
pulses  of  his  auditors,  with  despotic  ease. 

The  indescribable  motion  of  both  hands  towards  those  heart- 
wounds — "Too  tender  e'en  for  tenderness  to  touch  ;"  the  creep- 
ing, trembling  play  of  his  pale,  thin  fingers  over  his  maddening 
brain. 

At  times  every  fibre  seemed  to  contribute  to  the  energy  of 
his  voice.  Could  not  tire  of  him  any  more  than  of  nature. 
He  was  nature's  self.  The  greatest,  complete  abandonment  of 
individuality, — surest  trait  of  genius.  Never  overstepped  the 
bounds  of  nature,  no  measured  cadences  ;  no  unnatural  pauses  ; 
no  affectation.  One  of  the  most  beautiful  qualities  of  his  na- 
ture was  humility,  disregard  of  self,  and  appreciation  of  truly 
great  and  good  in  others.  Daily  abnegation  of  self  .made  him 
so  child-like,  yet  noble.  His  reading  of  the  Bible  was  eloquence 
till  then  unheard ;  before  that  no  conception.  Enwrapped  in 
the  character  with  such  truthful  earnestness — complete  identi- 
fication one  of  the  great  beauties  of  his  acting.  Gentle,  un- 
selfish,— child-like  faith  in  the  honesty  of  human  nature, — 
mild,  unobtrusive. 

Macready. — A  man  of  talent,  but  so  marked  as  to  nearly 
approach  genius. 

Adopted  all  the  modes  he  could  devise  to  acquire  the  power 
of  exciting  himself  into  the  wildest  emotions,  coercing  his  limbs 
to  perfect  stillness.  He  would  lie  down  on  the  floor,  or  stand 
straight  against  the  wall,  or  get  his  arms  within  a  bandage,  and 
so  pinioned  or  confined,  repeat  the  most  violent  passages  of 
Othello,  Lear,  Hamlet,  Macbeth,  or  whatever  would  require 
most  energy  and  emotion  ;  he  would  speak  the  most  passionate 
bursts  of  rage  under  the  supposed  constraint  of  whispering 
them  in  the  ear  of  the  one  to  whom  they  might  be  addressed, 
thus  keeping  both  voice  and  gesture  in  subjection  to  the  real 
impulse  of  the  feeling.  Such  was  his  process.  He  also  hud  fre- 
quent intercourse  to  the  looking-glass,  and  had  two  or  three  large 
ones  in  his  room  to  reflect  himself  in  each  riewof  the  posture  he 


GREAT  ACTORS.  219 

might  have  fallen  into.  He  also  acted  the  passion  close  to  a 
glass  to  restrain  the  tendency  to  exaggerate  its  expression — 
which  to  him  was  the  most  difficult  of  all — to  repress  the  ready 
frown  and  keep  the  features,  the  muscles  of  the  face,  undis- 
turbed ;  while  intense  passion  would  speak  from  the  eye  alone. 
The  easier  an  actor  makes  his  art  appear,  the  greater  the  pains 
it  must  have  cost  him.  Probably  no  actor  of  his  time  ever 
labored  more  devotedly  and  conscientiously  for  his  art  than 
Macready,  and  none  ever  received  a  heartier  welcome  into  the 
ranks  of  refined  and  cultured  society.  Used  to  walk  the  stage 
in  new  places,  to  make  himself  familiar  with  it,  to  be  at  home 
upon  it.  It  was  a  practice  with  him. 

Fechter. — Wonderful  plasticity  and  clearness.  His  mind 
and  body  were  in  such  instant  sympathy,  the  correspondence 
was  so  swift  and  perfect  that  he  produced  at  will  on  his  audi- 
ence the  effect  magnetic.  A  thrill,  a  flash  back  of  intelligence 
from  audience  that  transcended  ordinary  relations.  There  was 
&  world  of  suggestive  emotion  in  his  action  at  times,  that  sur- 
passed words. 

Subtle,  vivid,  earnest,  impassioned  ;  knew  the  value  of  sim- 
plicity and  strength.  Had  the  rare  ability  of  seeming  absorbed 
at  the  moment ;  of  forgetting  himself  ;  his  whole  being,  mind, 
soul  were  all  put  into  one  action.  Impulsive,  picturesque, 
graceful,  exquisitely  simple,  touching,  natural,  excited,  enthu- 
siastic. 

Ruy  Bias. — Sudden  pauses,  dropped  voice — "  I  love  her,  that's 
all."  Indescribably  intense  and  passionate,  in  deep  and  fatal 
passion.  First  dignity,  with  calm  air  of  conscious  superiority, 
then  the  pallor  of  anguish  and  despair ;  abject  manner,  at  the 
note,  without  utterance.  Marvelous  expression,  looking  alter- 
nately from  her  face  to  Don  Sallust,  struggling  with  the  passions 
that  rent  him.  Hope,  longing,  '•'/  am  a  lackey!"  went  to  the 
heart.  "  Thanks,  thanks,"  when  dying,  and  vain  attempt  to 
•embrace  the  woman  he  loved. 

Salvini. — Noble  bearing,  voice  of  rare  beauty,  and  an  elo- 
cution such  as  one  hears  once  in  a  life-time  ;  in  the  three  great 


220  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

elements  of  musical  expression,  tone,  timbre,  and  rhythm,  Sal- 
vini  is  the  greatest. 

'•'  The  best  method  is  obtained  by  close  observation  of 
nature ;  and  above  all  by  earnestness.  If  you  can  impress  peo- 
ple with  the  conviction  that  you  feel  what  you  say,  they  will 
pardon  many  shortcomings.  And  above  all,  study,  study,  study  I 
All  the  genius  in  the  world  will  not  help  you  along  with  any 
art  unless  you  become  a  hard  student.  It  has  taken  me  years 
to  master  a  single  part" 

Janauschek. — Intense  passion — tremendous  force — mas- 
sive power  of  mind.  But  lacks  shading  of  fine  tints  ;  lurid- 
ness,  breadth,  ardor,  largeness,  dwarfs  other  performers — makes 
them  puny.  Heroic  magnitude  of  method.  This  is  not  volume, 
compass,  intensity,  rotundity,  nor  force  nor  fullness,  nor  stature, 
nor  weight.  It  is  simplicity  and  ease  of  execution  by  thorough 
comprehension  of  what  is  to  be  executed  and  in  its  ability  to  do 
it.  The  idea  and  the  faculty  to  grasp  it.  Artistic  exaggeration, 
stateliness,  pomp.  Heroic  artists,  bold  strokes — no  intermediate 
tints.  No  delicacy  of  spirituelle,  but  majestic  outlines.  Large 
mould.  Modern  rdles  too  small. 

• 

Mile.  Georges. — A  dazzling  beauty  of  sixteen,  a  mere 
child  from  Normandy,  who  knew  nothing  more  of  the  stage  than 
that  richly  dressed  actors  there  represented  the  sorrows  and 
passions  of  ancient  times.  She  had  only  read  Corneille  and 
Racine.  But  no  sooner  had  she  trod  the  stage  as  Agripina 
than  she  was  at  once  accepted  as  a  great  artist.  Her  beauty. 
her  voice,  her  genius,  her  talent,  caused  her  to  be  hailed 
queen.  Vied  with  the  best  before  her. 

A  five-year-old  girl,  Gemma  Cuniberti,  is  a  star  at  one  of  the 
Florentine  theatres.  She  is  lovely,  and  plays  marvelously,  walk- 
ing the  stage  with  as  much  freedom  as  if  she  had  trod  it  for 
years.  Poets  have  written  verses  in  her  honor,  the  wife  of 
Salvini,  the  tragedian,  made  her  a  gift  of  a  precious  necklace, 
and  the  Princess  Royal  Margherita  expressed  her  appreciation 
in  a  beautiful  and  valuable  present.  Cavaliere  Rossi,  the  trage- 


GREAT  ACTORS.  221 

•dian,  predicts  for  her  a  splendid  career,  and  that  she  will  im- 
prove with  age  until  she  becomes  the  greatest  actress  the  world 
has  ever  seen. 

Baron,  who  was  naturally  timid,  always  felt  a  hero  for  sev- 
eral days  after  performing  in  Corneille's  plays. 

Rachel. — The  young  Eachel,  haggard  and  ill-clad,  begged 
an  influential  person  to  obtain  an  opportunity  at  the  Theatre 
Fran9ais.  He  told  her  to  get  a  basket  and  sell  flowers.  When 
she  did  appear  and  bouquets  were  thrown  at  her  feet,  after 
the  curtain  fell  she  flung  them  into  a  basket,  and  kneeling  to 
the  man  who  so  advised  her,  asked  him  if  he  would  buy  a 
nosegay. 

Rachel  studied  with  the  greatest  of  French  tutors  from  child- 
hood. It  was  genius  and  tuition.  Her  progress  was  gradual 
toward  perfection  ;  her  training  was  thorough  ;  the  means  labo- 
rious. Predictions  of  absolute  greatness  must  be  based  on  the 
appearance  of  deeps  of  latent  passion,  lava-reservoirs.  Sensi- 
bility must  be  quick,  but  not  superficial.  It  was  predicted 
of  Eachel  with  her  small  bony  body,  but  marble  face  and 
flaming  eyes,  witli  a  demoniacal  power  in  her,  that  if  she  lived 
and  did  not  burn  out  too  soon,  she  would  be  something  won- 
derful. 

The  Theatre  Fran9ais,  which  had  been  steadily  declining, 
rose  once  more  high  in  the  zenith  of  public  popularity.  Rachel 
brought  into  the  house  a  sum  of  6.000  francs  on  every  night 
she  played,  and  the  modest  salary  of  4,000  francs  per  annum, 
at  which  she  was  primarily  engaged,  was  voluntarily  raised  by 
the  management.  All  the  rank  and  fashion  then  assembled  in 
Paris  vied  with  each  other  in  doing  honor  to  the  transcendent 
genius  which  had  now  become  acknowledged  without  a  single 
dissentient  voice.  Her  extreme  youth — the  angularity,  not  to 
say  scragginess  of  her  figure — her  features,  too  small  and  deli- 
cate for  stage  effect — even  a  certain  harshness  in  the  tones  of 
her  voice — were  no  longer  subjected  to  cavil  or  criticism ; 
safely,  although  suddenly,  she  found  herself  placed  upon  the 
pedestal  of  public  opinion.  The  unalterable  sadness  of  her 


'.' •.'-.'  ACTIXG   AND    ORATORY. 

face,  the  flashes  of  her  jealousy  and  her  despair,  the  withering 
tempest  of  her  scorn,  the  wild,  distracted  tumult  of  her  eyes, 
created  an  impression  of  which  those  who  never  saw  Mile.  Rachel 
in  "  Phedre,"  in  •' Andromaque,"  and  in  '•'  Les  Horaces,"  can 
have  but  a  faint  idea.  It  was  the  sublime  ideal  of  passion,  far 
removed  from  the  stormy  violence  of  melodrama,  strangely  dif- 
fering from  any  ordinary  tendency  of  common  woes.  It  was 
the  embodiment  of  that  dramatic  power  which  invests  rage, 
scorn,  triumph,  pride,  every  torture,  and  every  malignity  which 
can  possess  the  human  heart  with  an  incomparable  dignity ;  the 
perfect  representation  of  the  conflict  of  a  soul  torn  and  wasted 
with  pagan  crime  and  pagan  remorse.  But  here  that  power 
came  to  an  end.  Mile.  Rachel  was  unable  adequately  to  render 
any  softer  feeling ;  she  failed  when  she  attempted  to  portray 
tenderness,  love  in  the  more  perfect  acceptation  of  the  word,  or 
the  charm  of  sensibility.  It  has  even  been  objected  to  that  fa- 
mous scene  in  the  fourth  act  of  "  Les  Horaces/'  where  her  at- 
titude alone,  without  a  word  from  her  lips,  is  such  as  to  convey 
to  the  audience  the  agony  which  she  endures  while  listening  to 
the  details  of  her  lover's  death,  (the  grandest  piece  of  face-acting 
ever  perhaps  displayed.)  that  although  the  effect  was  electric,  it 
produced  terror  rather  than  tears.  "Her  pantomime  in  this 
scene,"  says  Dr.  Veroh,  "has  a  splendid  effect,  and  I  have  it 
from  herself  that  she  took  the  idea  and  the  means  of  execution 
of  that  pantomime  from  an  attack  of  physical  disturbance.  She 
had  just  been  bled,  and  simply  reproduced  upon  the  stage  the 
profound  exhaustion  and  the  painful  feelings  of  threatened 
syncope  which  she  then  experienced."  Without  any  exaggera- 
tion it  has  been  said  of  more  than  one  tragedienne  that  she  had 
tears  in  her  voice.  La  Champmesle,  Adrienne  Lecouvreur.  La 
Duchesnois  possessed  this  passionate  and  touching  attribute. 
Mile.  Rachel  astounded,  electrified  ;  her  talent  reached  and 
wholly  satisfied  the  intellect,  but  it  left  the  heart,  if  not  cold, 
at  least  tranquil  and  without  illusions. 

She  paid  little  regard  to  the  cherished  traditions  of  the  stage 
and  startled  actors  by  her  seeming  innovations.  She  was  natural 
and  impressive,  instead  of  studied.  Her  face,  gesture,  and  voice 
meant  all  she  said. 


GREAT  ACTORS.  223 

No  exaggeration  in  her  acting — no  effort.  The  splendid  ter- 
rors of  that  queenly  brow,  the  impassioned  accents  of  those  elo- 
quent lips,  were  full  of  piercing  agony,  or  quivering  with  sup- 
pressed rage.  She  conned  every  word,  every  line,  every  look, 
gesture  and  intonation  with  her  teacher  Samsou. 

Rapid  changes  of  expression  on  her  wonderful  countenance. 
She  fascinated  by  her  marvelous  face  and  dark,  brilliant  eyes. 

She  could  throw  a  tablecloth  about  her  person  and  on  the 
instant  appear  becomingly  draped. 

Her  great  error  lay  in  never  knowing  well  her  strength. 

Eachel  was  the  panther  of  the  stage  ;  with  a  panther's  terri- 
ble beauty  and  undulating  grace  she  moved  and  stood,  glared 
and  sprang.  Her  thin,  nervous  frame  vibrated  with  emotion. 
Her  face  aflame  with  genius,  was  capable  of  intense  expression. 

Phedre. — What  a  picture  as  she  entered  ;  an  awful,  ghastly 
apparition.  At  times  her  passion  transcendent.  Marvelous  in 
her  abandonment;  with  manner  fierce,  rapid,  as  if  the  thoughts 
were  crowding  on  her  brain  in  tumult.  In  a  single  phrase  could 
concentrate  a  world  of  intense  feeling.  Terrific  exclamations. 
Her  withering  sarcasm,  calm,  polished,  implacable,  was  beyond 
description.  In  eyes  charged  with  lightning,  in  her  convulsive 
frame,  in  the  spasms  of  her  voice  from  clearness  to  hoarseness, 
were  felt  the  demoniac  element. 

At  once  a  wail  so  piercing  and  musical  that  the  whole  audi- 
ence rose  to  applaud. 

Camille. — Voice  thin,  husky  ;  grew  tall,  strong,  awful ;  hate 
full  of  fellest  purpose ;  indomitable  will ;  one  could  not  think 
whether  she  could  be  better ;  absorbed  in  the  sublime  fury  of 
the  incarnate  demon.  Not  pity,  but  terror  ;  awe- struck.  The 
quivering  play  of  her  hands,  every  fibre  listening  and  yielding 
and  struggling  with  despair,  as  one  would  deal  with  herself, 
and  let  it  have  its  way  with  others ;  the  sinking  form,  the 
horror-stricken  countenance.  He'r  tremendous  taunts  to  her 
brother,  every  word  of  which  was  a  heart-string  broken,  and  a 
drop  of  heart's  blood  shed  against  him,  to  pile  on  his  head  the 
mountain  of  her  curse.  One  forgot  the  theatre  ;  actress  ;  it 
was  a  lava  flood  over  a  laboring  soul.  Awful,  defiant  will  ; 
resisting  doom,  fought  to  the  last  gasp.  Eegal  in  satauic  en- 


ACTING  AND    ORATORY.' 

•ergy  ;  queenly  in  unyielding  scorn,  deadly  in  fell  and  furious 
gloom ;  as  to  seem  to  almost  shatter  life.  Dreadful  vision ; 
pale,  lurid  ;  hate  of  hell.  Broad,  noble,  nothing  realistic. 
Love,  of  the  tigress ;  fierce  animalism.  In  woes  and  wrongs, 
writhing  on  the  spear,  biting,  tearing,  vindictive,  kind. 

The  subtle  influence  of  rhythm  seemed  to  penetrate  her  in 
stately  verse.  Her  face  acting  was  wonderful.  Superlative  in 
moments.  Never  equalled  in  intensity  even  by  Kean.  Not 
great  in  whole  of  character.  Husbanded  powers.  Energy  ter- 
rific and  sublime.  Demoniac,  not  womanly  gentleness.  Her 
acting  transcended  all  conception,  beggared  all  estimate.  An 
apparition  raging  ;  distended  into  madness.  Evil  spirits  beyond 
physical  force.  Weak,  fragile  ;  black,  eagle  eyes  ;  night-dark 
hair. 

The  measure  of  French  verse  very  difficult  to  follow.  Plays, 
a  series  of  declamatory  couplets.  Her  acting  a  revelation ; 
surprising  talents,  whixjh  overcame  with  seemingly  hardly  an 
effort  these  chief  disadvantages.  One  forgot  she  was  speaking 
in  rhyme.  The  declamatory  singing  tone  was  never  heard. 
The  fetters  of  verse  seemed  to  be  dissolved  by  the  fire  of  her 
passionate  energy  ;  the  measured  couplets  are  broken  up  into 
brief  sentences,  which  seem  the  natural  utterances  of  affec- 
tion, grief,  fury,  despair  or  other  emotions.  In  her  perform- 
ances, Corneille,  Kacine  and  even  Molie're  display  beauties  never 
before  suspected,  because  of  the  cumbrous  metre  and  monoto- 
nous rhyme  ;  their  genius  never  before  so  highly  appreciated. 
Sixteen  years  of  age  at  her  debut  at  the  The"dtre  Fran9ais. 
Astonishment  and  admiration  followed.  Not  a  declaimer  but 
could  raise  herself  to  the  height  required  ;  seemed  to  grow  with 
the  fearful  reality  with  which  she  invested  the  part.  People 
understood  for  the  first  time  the  mighty  verse  of -the  French 
stage,  and  that  they  then  realized  its  power  was  acknowledged 
by  the  paroxysm  of  applause.  .  All  felt  that  a  young  and  power- 
ful genius  had  revealed  herself. 

Ristori.  —  Magnetic  personality — trained  art  of  a  great 
actress.  Humanity,  actual  in  classical  as  historic.  Not  spir- 
itual ;  rugged  rather  than  delicate ;  deficient  of  the  poetic ; 


GREAT  ACTORS.  225 

flesh  and  blood.  Stalwart  and  definite,  natural,  not  ideal 
school,  not  imaginative.  Frenzies  of  heart  and  person  kind  of 
magnetism.  Unquestionably  great ;  foremost  of  her  time,  but 
not  of  the  greatest  type,  lacks  the  ineffable  quality  which  en- 
wraps, animates  and  hallows  the  highest  forms  of  genius.  The 
fury  of  woman,  yet  perfect ;  heart's  ferocity.  Wild  anguish, 
delirium  of  desolation,  tremendous  in  effect  and  depth.  Not 
ideal,  but  human.  Extraordinary  reserve  ;  melodramatic  tra- 
gedy, but  peerless.  Salvini,  perhaps,  a  greater  photographic 
artist. 

She  has  deep  passion  ;  and  gives  startling  reality  to  each 
part.  Dreamy  reverie  and  ardent  purpose.  In  the  habit  of 
seeking  in  mental  prayer,  strength  and  nerve  before  going  on 
the  stage  in  character.  Simple  and  unpretending  even  in  gran- 
•deur.  True  to  art.  Fine  physique,  noble  carriage,  wonderful 
facial  expression,  great  in  posing  and  pantomime.  Peerless  in 
costume  and  decoration.  Dark  grey  eyes.  People  like  to  feel 
power,  and  though  she  spoke  no  language  whatever,  she  would 
still  be  a  power.  Such  versatility  in  dying ;  never  dying  twice 
alike.  Her  deaths  are  as  dissimilar  as  her  characters,  and  noth- 
ing is  more  difficult  than  to  avoid  conventionality  in  this  re- 
spect. Her  deaths  are  so  real,  and  she  is  so  dead  that  the  stage 
seems  to  be  fact,  and  the  auditorium  fiction. 

Rachel  and  Ristori.  —  One  dark,  the  other  fair  ;  one 
Greek,  the  other  Eoman ;  one  Pagan,  the  other  Christian  ; 
one  statuesque,  the  other  picturesque  ;  one  the  embodiment 
of  the  classic,  and  out  of  it  lost  her  greatness,  which  was 
unique,  the  other  the  incarnation  of  the  romantic,  with  a  fine 
capacity  for  much  that  is  classic  ;  one  hate,  the  other  love  ; 
one's  nature  limited,  the  other's  eclectic. 

The  rubs  of  play- writing  are  to  transform  narration  into 
action,  to  make  the  characters  shun  talk  and  act,  and — you 
have  seen  a  billiard-player  so  strike  his  ball  as  to  drive  it 
forward  and  make  it  spin  back  to  the  place  it  left  ?  Well, 
the  dramatist  must  do  the  same  thing  with  his  action.  During 
half  the  plot  it  must  go  forward  in  such  a  manner  as  to  make 


ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

the  spectators  know  it  can  ni'ver  come  back  :  this  effect  the 
dramatist  attains  by  heaping  many  ami  innumerable  obstacles 
in  the  way  of  its  return.  During  the  rest  of  the  play,  the  ac- 
tion comes  back  to  the  point  of  departure,  despite  every  ob- 
stacle in  its  path.  Analyze  any  play,  you  will  lind  this  to  be 
me  art.  Shakespeare's  plays  are  built  by  a  different  method. 
Tiiey  constantly  carry  the  spectator  forward  till  the  catastrophe 
is  reached.  The  mysteries  were  still  popular  in  Shakespeare's 
day.  and  their  rude  art  (they  were  merely  tableau.'-  cimnt^i 
was  all  the  dramatic  art  known.  Hence  there  is  in  Shake- 
speare's plays  no  plot,  technically  speaking. 

Scribe  not  only  excelled  in  making  his  characters  act  and  in 
skilfull  build  of  plot,  but  he  never  rested  satisfied  until  he  had 
made  each  piece  he  brought  out  as  near  perfection  in  these 
particulars  as  possible.  During  rehearsals  he  was  all  attention  ; 
not  the  most  transient  play  of  feature  on  supernumeraries'  or 
firemen's  faces  escaped  him.  He  would  try  to  divine  its. mean- 
ing ;  if  it  escaped  him,  he  would  ask  it  in  such  a  way  it  was 
never  refused.  Nobody  better  understood  the  meaning  of  the 
exclamations  by  which  stage  people  commonly  express  their 
ideas.  Actors  themselves  are  rarely  able  to  clothe  their 
thoughts  in  words.  Here  is  a  singular  example  : 

When  Ernest  Legouve  brought  out  •'•  Louise  de  Lignerolles," 
he  gave  the  leading  part  to  Mile.  Mars.  In  the  third  act 
Louise  surprises  her  husband  in  improper  company.  A  most 
violent  scene  ensues  between  them,  which  ends  by  a  reconcilia- 
tion which  is  all  the  tenderer  from  the  preceding  violence. 
Louise  exclaims,  %'I  fear  nothing  ;  all  is  forgotten  ;  we  are  still 
in  our  honeymoon."  At  this  Mile.  Mars  stopped  abruptly,  and 
exclaimed  :  '•  I  shall  not  use  any  such  expression." 

"  Pray  why  not,  madam  •* "  Legouve  asked. 

'•'  Because  it  is  detestable." 

'•'I  really  cannot  agree  with  you.     Consider  the  scene." 

"  Still,  I  shall  not  use  any  such  expression.  You  must  give 
me  another." 

"What?" 

"  Why,  nothing  is  easier.  I  want  to  say Trala,  la,  la, 

la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la,  la  ! " 


GREAT  ACTORS.  227 

Legouve  was  puzzled  enough  to  find  what  she  was  driving 
at.  He  could  get  nothing  else  from  her.  At  last  he  said  to 
himself,  '•'  She  shows  me,  by  that  elementary  music  with  four 
similar  notes,  the  rhythm  and  harmony  she  wants  in  the  phrase 
that  she  may  adequately  express  her  delight  and  love."  He 
wrote  :  *•'  I  forget  all — I  know  nothing.  Life  begins  ;  you  for 
the  first  time  say,  '  I  love  thee  ! ' '  When  he  read  it  to  Mile. 
Mars,  she  exclaimed,  "  That's  just  what  I  wanted  !  " 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  how  rapidly  Scribe,  in  a  like  manner, 
understood  advice,  though  it  was  given  in  the  most  unintelligi- 
ble manner. 

Just  as  Scribe  was  docile  to  the  suggestions  of  others,  so  he 
exacted  equal  docility  to  his  own  wishes,  especially  from  actors. 
At  rehearsals  he  was  a  rigid  disciplinarian.  He  had  no  confi- 
dence in  "  inspiration."  He  insisted  that  actors  should  work  ; 
should  know  exactly  what  they  were  going  to  do  ;  the  very 
gesture,  look,  tone,  they  would  use ;  in  fine,  that  they  should 
be  masters  of  their  art,  and  by  the  same  method  which  had 
given  him  mastership  in  his  art — honest,  hard  work.  One  day 
Scribe  was  induced  to  give  a  brilliant  part  in  a  new  comedy  to  a 
young  actor,  who  was  thought  to  be  of  great  promise.  But 
when  older  actors  told  him  the  traditions  of  the  stage,  he 
turned  on  them  with  anger  and  indignation.  "  Do  you  think  I 
am  going  to  be  a  slave  to  your  conventionalities  ?  Do  you 
imagine  me  a  supple-jack,  whose  strings  are  to  be  pulled  by  old 
fools  in  their  graves  ?  " 

When  he  was  asked  : 

"But  at  least  be  good  enough  to  tell  us  where  you  will 
stand?" 

"  I  myself  have  not  the  least  idea.  I  shall  rely  upon  the 
inspiration  of  the  moment.  It  will  point  out  to  me  the  best 
place.  There  I  shall  stand.  My  genius  will  guide  me,  not 
your  musty,  mechanical  rules." 

Scribe  was  patient  for  a  fortnight.  He  then  asked  the 
young  actor  to  put  aside  the  manuscript  and  to  rehearse  as  his 
comrades  were  doing,  that  he  might  criticise  the  manner  in 
which  he  (the  young  actor)  conceived  his  part.  The  young 
actor  replied  : 


228  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

"  Sir,  I  accept  criticisms  from  nobody.  I  listen  to  no  man's 
suggestions.  I  play  according  to  my  own  inspiration  " — where- 
upon Scribe  withdrew  the  part  from  him. 

Nothing  annoyed  Scribe  more  than  the  ignorance  of  actors. 
It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that  he  could  make  them  read 
the  whole  play  in  which  they  were  to  appear.  They  would 
read  their  part — nothing  more.  Incredible  anecdotes  are  told 
of  the  ignorance  of  French  actors. 

While  Rachel  was  rehearsing  Madame  de  Girardin's  "  Cleo- 
patra," the  former  positively  refused  to  appear  in  the  part  un- 
less the  authoress  would  agree  to  give  the  lover  some  name 
other  than  Antony,  "which,"  said  the  actress,  "is  too  horribly 
vulsrar."  Rachel  was  obstinate  in  her  refusal  until  she  was 

o 

shown  that  Madame  de  Girardin  had  no  choice. 

Scribe  thought  for  some  time  that  Rachel  was  an  actress 
after  his  heart.  Nobody  knew  better  than  Rachel  the  import- 
ance of  study  and  the  value  of  long,  patient  rehearsals,  which 
enable  an  actor  to  play  a  part  as  he  conceives  it,  to  place  it  be- 
fore the  public  with  all  those  inflections  of  the  voice,  play  of 
physiognomy,  gestures,  attitudes,  movements,  pauses,  which 
enchant  an  audience  ;  they  see  nothing  in  an  actor  but  his  exe- 
cution. Rachel  was  a  slow  worker.  She  was  absolutely  de- 
pendent upon  others  to  comprehend,  to  conceive  her  parts.  It 
was  necessary  with  her  to  begin  with  the  most  striking  *•'  hit" 
of  the  piece,  and  to  show  how  it  was  to  be  made.  Once  taught, 
she  would  make  the  hit  in  a  manner  which  far  surpassed  her 
teacher's  ideal.  Give  her  nickel,  she  returned  you  gold. 
Strange  as  this  may  seem,  it  is  a  very  common  phenomenon 
in  art. 

We  constantly  see  music  teachers,  and  especially  singing 
masters,  who  cannot  decently  execute  a  single  piece,  who  yet 
teach  pupils  to  play  or  sing  most  brilliantly.  Rachel  never 
left  anything  to  inspiration.  When  she  was  to  play  her  most 
familiar  part,  Ph£dre  for  instance,  she  always  went  over  the 
part  in  the  morning  of  the  evening  she  was  to  appear,  with  her 
old  master,  Samson,  and  if  she  failed  in  any  passage  she  would 
go  over  it  again  and  again  until  she  was  mistress  of  it.  She 
would  get  Samson  to  come  to  her  dressing-room  in  the  theatre 


FAMOUS    ACTORS.  229 

to  recall  some  intonations,  which  she  feared  might  escape,  and 
sometimes  would  even  get  him  to  stand  in  the  wings  that  he 
might,  just  before  she  went  on  the  stage,  repeat  these  intona- 
tions to  her.  Rachel's  costumes,  even  the  Grecian  and  Roman 
dress  which  she  wore  with  such  grace  and  majesty,  were  always 
arranged  in  those  harmonious  folds,  which  were  so  justly  ad- 
mired, by  her  dressing  maid  and  kept  in  position  by  pins  and 
stitches,  so  that  nothing  could  disarrange  them. 

She  left  nothing  to  accident.  Rachel  had  no  confidence  in 
herself,  or  anybody.  When  she  first  appeared  in  New  York, 
she  was  so  disturbed  by  the  rustling  of  the  leaves  as  the  audi- 
ence followed  her,  book  in  hand,  that  she  came  within  an  ace 
of  falling  into  hysterics.  The  least  incident  put  her  out. 
Hence  the  care  with  which  even  her  costume  was  secured 
against  all  disarrangement.  Even  at  the  height  of  her  reputa- 
tion, and  when  everybody  who  went  to  hear  her  was  an  enthu- 
siastic applauder,  she  never  could  play  unless  all  the  hireling 
applauders  were  in  their  usual  places  in  the  pit.  In  vain  the 
manager  and  actors  told  her  that  hundreds  were  nightly  turned 
from  the  doors  for  want  of  seats  ;  she  insisted  upon  the  presence 
of  those  mercenary  applauders.  How  different. she  was  from 
her  great  rival,  Ristori !  Ristori  always  insisted  that  there 
should  be  none  of  these  hirelings  in  the  theatre  when  she 
played.  She  said  :  *•'!  am  not  only  irritated  by  their  horrible, 
little,  mechanical  noise,  but  they  hide  the  public  from  me.  I 
cannot  follow  the  public  feeling.  It  is  the  public  I  want  to  see. 
It  is  the  public  with  whom  I  would  wrestle.  If  the  public  be 
hostile,  all  the  better,  the  fight  will  be  warmer.  But  then,  on 
the  other  hand,  if  I  win  their  applause,  I  shall  be  able  to  say  to 
myself  :  ' That  bravo  is  honestly  and  entirely  mine.'" 

Nothing  disconcerted  Ristori,  and  she  was  full  of  pluck. 
She  fought  for  author,  for  play,  for  self,  all  the  more  ardently 
if  the  audience  was  hostile,  till  the  curtain  fell.  The  second 
performance  of  a  piece  in  Paris  is  quite  as  dangerous,  if  not 
more  dangerous,  than  the  first.  If  the  audience  of  the  first 
night  be  composed  of  critics,  rivals,  friends  and  fashionable 
people,  and  be  most  sensitive,  the  theatre  is  filled  the  second 
night  with  people  who  have  bought  their  seats  (the  majority  of 


230  ACT1XG  AND    ORATORY. 

tickets  issued  the  tirst  niglit  are  free  tickets),  who  want  the 
worth  of  their  money,  who  come  to  be  amused,  and  are  ready 
for  any  sort  of  •'•'fun."  They  are  fashionable  people,  who  have, 
nevertheless,  no  interest  in  the  dramatic  world  sufficient  to  se- 
cure seats  the  first  night.  They  are  frivolous  and  merciless. 
This  incident  occurred  during  the  second  performance  of 
'•'Medea"  in  Paris.  In  the  second  act,  Medea  (Madame  Ris- 
tori),  after  the  scene  with  Jason,  fell  upon  a  seat,  frantic  with 
anger  and  grief.  Her  two  children  make  their  appearance, 
they  are  terrified,  and,  still  at  a  distance,  call  their  mother.  As 
they  entered,  the  eldest  child  trod  on  the  heel  of  the  youngest 
and  tore  off  half  his  sandal.  The  youngest  came  hobbling  for- 
ward, dragging  behind  him  the  torn  moiety  of  his  sandal.  Had 
the  audience  seen  him,  there  would  have  been  an  end  of  Medea 
for  that  night. 

Had  Rachel  been  Medea,  she  would  have  gone  into  hysterics. 
Ristori  heard  and  saw  the  accident,  Instantly  she  changed  the 
settled  pantomime ;  it  required  her  to  sit  and  let  her  children 
come  up  to  her  ;  instead  of  doing  so,  she  rose,  ran  to  them, 
snatched  up  the  youngest  child,  pat  it  in  her  arms,  threw  her 
mantle  on  its  feet,  returned  to  her  seat  with  the  child  on  her 
breast,  sat  with  the  child  in  her  lap,  quietly  broke  both  sandals 
and  threw  them  under  the  seat.  Nobody  saw  the  accident  or 
suspected  what  she  had  done.  She  did  all  these  things  with- 
out retarding  the  progress  of  the  scene,  without  omitting  one 
word  of  her  part,  without  betraying  the  least  agitation,  or  em- 
barrassment, without  ceasing  those  tears,  those  sobs  which  filled 
the  audience  with  terror  and  pity. 

While  Rachel  depended  on  her  dressing-maid  for  the  arrange- 
ment of  her  costume,  Ristori  would  take  a  large  cloth,  throw  it 
over  her  shoulders  and  drape  it  during  the  play  as  suited  best 
with  her  present  passion,  now  letting  it  trail  behind  her  with 
queenly  sweep,  then  wrapping  it  around  her  like  the  cloak  of  a 
nun,  or  rolling  it  around  her  head  like  the  veil  which  hides  a 
broken  heart  and  tear-scalded  eyes.  How  admirably  Guizot 
portrayed  the  characteristics  of  both  actresses,  when  he  said  : 
•'One  is  the  beau  ideal  aristocratic  tragic  actress  ;  the  other  is 
the  beau  ideal  democratic  actress.''  Nature  oftentimes  jeers 


GREAT    ACTORS.  231 

man's  vanity ;  the  fieau  ideal  aristocratic  tragic  actress  was 
born  in  the  kennel. 

Again,  Rachel  excused  her  lukewarm  success  in  Scribe's  and 
other  modern  plays,  by  the  peculiarities  of  her  talents.  They 
were  great;  but  they  were  limited.  Her  voice  had  irresistible 
notes;  its  compass  was  narrow.  She  said:  "Impassioned  ges- 
ticulation is  something  beyond  my  reach.  I  can  execute  every- 
thing that  is  expressed  by  physiognomy,  by  attitude,  by  a  sober, 
measured  gesture  ;  I  can  go  no  further  ;  where  great,  energetic 
pantomime  begins,  my  talents  end." 

Edwin  Forrest,  America's  greatest  actor,  began  a  dramatic 
career  a  mere  stripling — a  boy  in  his  teens.  He  had  a  sweet,  ex- 
pressive and  vigorous  voice,  a  steady  eye  and  a  generous,  open 
bearing.  In  preparation  for  his  roles,  he  would  study  the  charac- 
ter in  the  text  with  the  utmost  care,  analyzing  every  speech  and 
situation.  Furthermore  he  saturated  his  mind  with  the  spirit  of 
the  life  and  legends  of  its  nationality,  by  means  of  histories,  books 
of  travel,  and  engravings,  till  its  people  and  their  customs,  and 
all  were  distinct  and  real  to  him.  In  the  next  place,  he  paid  great 
Attention  to  his  make-up,  arraying  himself  in  garb  scrupulously 
accurate.  No  actor  placed  greater  stress  on  a  fitting  costume 
than  he.  In  Jack  Cade  it  was  no  mere  strutting  piece  of  empty 
histrionics,  but  the  carefully  studied  and  conscientious  conden- 
sation into  three  hours  of  a  whole  vigorous  and  effective  life. 
All  his  life  an  earnest  student  of  human  nature,  in  literature, 
in  society,  his  own  consciousness,  and  the  critical  practice  of  his 
profession.  Under  the  rigorous  athletic  training  he  gave  him- 
self, he  was  magnificent  indeed,  but  incapable  of  the  more  airy 
and  delicate  qualities.  He  lacked  the  lightning-like  suppleness 
of  Garrick  and  Kean.  The  same  was  true  mentally.  Could  lie 
have  mastered  the  spirituelle  and  free  as  he  did  the  sombre  and 
tenacious,  he  had  been  perfect.  His  voice  for  the  absolute  per- 
iection  often  claimed  in  its  behalf,  its  crashing  gutturality  needed 
supplementing  with  that  Italian  quality  of  transparent,  round, 
elastic,  ringing  precision  which  delivers  the  words  on  the  silent 
air  like  crystal  balls  on  black  velvet.  The  precision  with  which 
he  conceived  his  characters,  the  patience  with  which  he  elabo- 


232  ACTING    AXD    ORATORY. 

rated  all  their  elements,  placed  his  chief  r61es  among  the  most 
complete  specimens  of  the  dramatic  art  in  their  way.  He  em- 
ployed every  means  to  thoroughly  comprehend  all  he  spoke, 
even  to  the  use  of  a  classical  dictionary,  thus  omitting  nothing 
that  might  aid  his  interpretations.  When  giving  himself  full 
swing  with  his  friend  alone,  unbent  from  professional  duty,  he 
would  sit  on  the  floor,  mimic  a  tailor  at  work,  or  roll  on  the 
bed  in  convulsions  of  laughter,  or  represent  the  double  part  of 
two  negro  wood-sawyers  who  undertook  to  play  Damon  and 
Pythias.  He  used  to  say,  "It  is  often  the  case  that  we  solemn 
tragedians  when  off  the  stage  are  your  jolliest  dogs,  while  your 
clowns  and  comedians  are  dyspeptic  and  melancholy  in  private." 
He  wrestled  with  the  genius  of  his  art  as  Hercules  with  Antaeus, 
throwing  it  to  the  ground  continually,  but  making  its  vitality 
more  vigorous  with  every  fall.  As  years  passed,  and  brought 
the  philosophic  mind,  they  tempered  and  refined  the  animal 
fierceness,  strained  out  the  crudity  and  excess,  and  imaginative 
portraiture  took  the  place  of  sensational  realism.  He  spent 
an  incredible  amount  of  time,  and  gave  the  most  unwearied 
study  to  his  characters  of  Shakespeare,  and  actually  attained 
conceptions  of  them  far  more  comprehensive  and  distinct  than 
he  received  credit  for.  He  dilated  and  glowed  in  the  exciting 
situations,  as  if  they  were  no  mimic  reflections  of  the  crises  of 
other  souls,  but  original  and  thrilling  incarnations  of  his  own. 

A  critic  used  to  sit  close  to  the  stage  and  watch  a  rising- 
actor  with  the  keenest  scrutiny,  not  allowing  the  smallest  par- 
ticular to  escape  his  notice.  Then  at  the  end  of  the  play  he 
would  in  a  private  interview  submit  to  his  protege  the  results 
of  his  observation,  carefully  pointing  out  every  fault  and  indi- 
cating the  remedy.  The  actor  was  Edwin  Forrest. 

GREAT    SINGERS   AND   ARTISTS. 

Lablache,  the  greatest  basso  prof  undo  of  the  world.  Voice 
of  considerable  compass,  but  its  weight  exceeded  anything  ever 
heard  from  a  human  chest,  yet  ordinary  when  he  commenced 
practice.  When  put  forth  to  its  full  power  and  extent,  it  not 
only  overwhelmed  every  other  upon  the  stage  and  resounded 


GREAT  SINGERS  AND  ARTISTS. 

above  the  loudest  orchestration,  but  entered  into  the  most  suc- 
cessful competition  with  the  most  sonorous  instruments.  This 
stentorian  strength  and  gigantic  power  he  used  with  the  utmost 
discretion,  only  now  and  then  displaying  it,  and  then  most  jus- 
tifiably. Its  quality  was  superb,  so  round  and  clear  and  sym- 
pathetic was  every  note  that  if  he  had  only  sung  his  scales — 
which  he  could  do  most  perfectly — it  would  have  produced  the- 
utmost  gratification.  Nothing  could  exceed  the  accuracy  of  his 
intonation.  His  style  was  of  the  purest.  A  model  of  good 
taste.  The  character  he  represented  was  always  uppermost  in 
his  mind.  To  every  minutiae  he  paid  the  utmost  attention. 
He  never  seemed  to  be  aware  of  the  existence  of  himself,  or  of 
the  presence  of  a  large  audience. 

Lablache  acquired  a  giant  voice.  Could  give  a  weight  to  his 
voice  that  was  truly  appalling. 

Parepa. — She  could  deeply  move  audiences  by  a  common 
song,  because  the  tones  were  absolutely  without  a  defect.  Voice 
not  the  secret.  Eeached  the  pinnacle.  She  learned  to  despise 
mere  vocal  display  and  discard  vulgar  embellishment,  and  to  es- 
teem the  noblest  style  the  simplest  and  most  natural.  Years  of 
hard  work  and  intelligent  study  before  this  perfect  culture  was 
complete.  She  stood  before  audiences  so  quiet,  easy,  and  unaf- 
fected song  flowed  from  her  lips  without  effort  and  premedita- 
tion. She  sang  as  if  she  could  not  help  it.  Physical  strength 
and  technical  education  triumphed  over  the  most  serious  prob- 
lems of  art,  to  seem  a  second  nature.  As  easy  as  speech.  It  was 
high  culture  and  natural  endowment.  She  opened  the  minds 
of  the  multitude  to  new  conceptions  ;  discovered  to  them  un- 
suspected beauties ;  elevated  and  refined  their  taste  ;  taught 
them  to  despise  vulgarity  and  false  pretence,  and  affectation, 
and  to  appreciate  whatever  is  pure,  and  dignified,  and  consci- 
entious, and  to  hate  devices.  She  advanced  musical  taste  and 
knowledge  a  whole  generation  ;  was  personally  a  true  and  noble 
woman,  swayed  only  by  unaffected  goodness,  gentle  deeds.  She 
was  a  friend  of  her  audiences,  and  had  a  warm  and  tender  heart ; 
made  lasting  attachments  ;  was  genial,  graceful,  and  simple  as  a 
child.  Adulation  never  turned  her  head,  though  praise,  in- 


234  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

telligent,  delighted  her.  The  vexations  of  her  career,  and  the 
mixed  associations  of  the  stage  never  embittered  her  temper,  for 
she  was  always  dignified,  lady-like  under  all. 

Patti. — The  recollection  of  that  November  night  when  the 
beautiful  little  figure  first  tripped  upon  the  stage,  and  ama/cd 
the  town  with  the  loveliest  Lucia  that  ever  rejoiced  our  eyes, 
has  never  lost  its  freshness.  Raised  to  a  dizzy  height  of  glory, 
all  the  world  lay  prostrate  at  her  feet. 

Campanella. — Used  to  compose  his  face,  gesture,  and  body 
as  nearly  as  he  could,  into  the  similitude  of  persons,  and  then 
carefully  observe  what  turn  of  mind  he  seemed  to  acquire  ;  thus 
he  was  able  to  enter  into  their  very  being.  He  could  so  abstract 
his  mind  as  to  endure  the  rack  with  little  or  no  pain. 

Angelo  spent  twelve  years  in  dissecting.  This  was  not 
pedantry,  minutiae  of  literal  observation. 

Canova  (Sculptor}. — Not  beauty  merely  free  from  defects. 
The  most  sublime  has  faults.  Yet  admirable  ;  beauty  to  judg- 
ment, derived  from  inspiration,  captivates  senses,  subdues  heart. 
Life,  feeling,  real  beauty.  The  simplest  and  most  direct  means 
— that  which  best  advances  ;  other  is  ornamental  and  retards. 
Natural ;  any  degree  of  forcedness  is  deformity.  Fine  judgment 
the  secret.  Reason  why  to  all  you  do.  Immense  study  and  long 
experience,  to  produce  grandeur  and  magnitude.  Not  extatic 
or  only  extravagance  and  distortion.  Mere  enthusiasm  little  bet- 
ter than  delirium  ;  must  be  joined  with  sound  judgment,  and 
fine  powers  of  execution.  Even  in  trifles 'try  to  perfect.  For 
unjust  criticism  do  better.  Judgment  better  than  mere  knowl- 
edge of  theory  and  precept,  without  which  they  will  be  hurtful 
by  obstructing  the  exercise  of  natural  powers. 

Di  Vinci  (Painter). — Memory  not  capacious  enough  to  re- 
tain all  effects  of  nature  therefore  consult  her  for  everything. 
Fortunate  conditions  not  always  favorable  to  genius.  The  great- 
est works  have  been  produced  under  the  greatest  restraint  and 


GREAT  SINGERS  AND   ARTISTS.  235 

difficulty.  Content  sometimes  produces  languor  that  begets 
dilatoriness.  Experiment,  observation  and  in  nature.  Greatest 
most  childlike.  Life  begins  at  the  heart.  If  genius  indulge  in 
sloth,  it  must  not  expect  to  keep  that  keen  edge  which  rust  will 
destroy.  Nothing  done  till  nought  remain. 

Shakespeare. 

Shakespeare  dictated  by  the  spirit  of  romance.  And  he 
should  be  the  constant  companion  of  the  youthful ;  he  will 
lead  him  back  to  the  fairy  land  of  old  romantic  days,  chasing 
from  his  eyes  the  prosaic  mist  engendered  by  imitation  of  the 
pagan  antique,  and  the  unsound  babble  of  conventional  art. 

The  plays  of  Shakespeare  enable  the  devout  heart  to  be  just 
.and  true.  He  received  every  form  of  humanity  to  his  heart. 
He  never  gave  one  the  cold  shoulder.  He  drew  a  sigh  ;  put  the 
shoes  off  his  feet  to  come  and  see.  And  understanding  gives 
from  first  to  last  fair  play,  the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  to 
give.  Interested  in  the  noblest  because  noble,  in  the  lowest 
because  something  human  in  them.  He  never  gives  notice  when 
he  has  made  a  point.  If  we  cannot  see,  he  does  not  stop  to  tell 
us.  It  would  be  well  for  art  if  we  could  be  capable  of  some- 
thing similar.  His  mere  silence  is  moving.  Where  there  is 
something  unintelligible,  there  is  a  gem  if  you  can  get  at  it. 

Marc  Antony. — Every  part  of  this  wonderful  address  will 
reward  careful  study.  There  is  nothing  like  it  upon  record  nor 
in  the  whole  range  of  fiction  can  its  equal  be  found.  It  is  a 
model  of  platform  oratory.  It  should  be  spoken  beginning  with 
^i  low  voice,  profound  grief,  extreme  deference  to  the  multitude. 
Then  with  an  appeal  from  their  love  of  country  to  their  love 
•of  the  man. 

King  Lear. — Is  the  most  impressive  tragedy  extant.  The 
highest  sublimity  to  sink  into  the  depths  of  the  human  heart. 
'The  wild  spirit  of  the  heathen  father's  revenge — the  sublime 
threatening  of  his  vengeance — from  its  very  indistinctness,  as  if 
too  vast  to  shape  itself.  The  most  awful  menace  that  ever  burst 
from  a  father's  heart  in  wrath  upon  the  head  of  an  impious 
ohild. 

Shakespeare's  Lear  is  one  with  the  most  tremulously  tender 


ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

heart  and  the  most  delicately  sensitive  and  poetical  mind  possi- 
ble to  mortal  man,  and  his  true  grandeur  appears  in  his  over- 
throw, which  is  pathetic  for  that  reason.  The  shattered  frag- 
ments of  the  column  reveal  its  past  magnificence.  No  mun  can 
play  Lear  in  these  scenes  so  as  to  satisfy,  even  approximately, 
the  ideal  inspired  by  Shakespeare's  text  unless  he  knows,  by  in- 
tuition, or  experience,  the  vanity,  mutability  and  hollowness  of 
this  world.  The  deeper  deep  of  philosophy  is  sounded  here, 
and  the  loftiest  height  of  pathos  is  attained.  Gigantic  sorrows. 

Hamlet. — Amazing  eloquence  !  Superb  intellect,  thoughts 
vaster  than  deeds.  Enormous  superhuman  difficulty  of  repre- 
sentation in  the  care,  the  awe,  the  majesty.  Intellectual  glare 
in  "I'll  make  a  ghost  of  him  that  lets  me"  and  its  surround- 
ings. Like  a  spiritual  thunderbolt.  Then  deeper  gloom,  deeper 
horror.  Hamlet  haggard,  breathless.  His  young  life  taxed  to 
uttermost  in  its  proud  grapple.  Matchless  intellect  well  nigh 
strained  to  utter  overthrow  by  the  terrors  of  this  phantom 
chase.  Afterwards,  one  brief  appeal  to  heaven,  earth,  and  hell, 
one  call  on  heart  and  sinews  to  bear  him  stiffly  up.  Then  pity, 
pure  and  profound.  A  single  second  his  distracted  brain  gives 
way  and  he  gasps,  "my  table, — meet  it  is  I  set  it  down,"  etc., 
brief  as  lightning  and  as  terrible  too.  The  remainder  of  the 
act  is  a  struggle  to  restore  the  lost  equilibrium.  Frightful  is 
this  tremendous  conflict  of  godlike  reason  battling  for  its  throne 
against  Titanic  terror  and  despair.  Staggers  back  with  "wild 
and  whirling  words  "  from  the  perilous  edges  of  madness.  Dex- 
terously, yet  grotesquely,  baffles  the  pardonable  curiosity  of  his 
companions ;  jests  and  laughs  over  the  sepulchral  "  swear  ! " 
lest  sheer  horror  should  compel  his  friends  to  divulge  their 
ghastly  secret.  Scorpion  walled  with  fire,  "  0,  what  a  rogue 
and  peasant  slave  am  I."  The  sacrifice  not  suicide  in,  "  To  ft? 
or  not  to  be." 

Macbeth. — Dark,  weird,  sombre,  imaginative  spirit.  Grimr 
fiend-driven,  awful  emotion,  and  stormy  frenzy  ;  not  earthr 
and  common  life  ;  ideal ;  verse,  not  prose  ;  grand  ;  reality  and 
white  heat ;  great,  not  common. 

Passion,  in  Othello,  pours  along  like  a  river,  in  restless  eddiesr 
or  hurled  from  its  dizzy  height,  like  a  cataract. 


CRITIQUE — SID  DONS.  237 

In  Lear,  like  a  sea,  swelling,  raging,  chafing,  without  bound, 
without  hope,  beacon  or  anchor.  A  mighty  wreck  in  the  wild 
world  of  sorrows. 

Lady  Macbeth. — Sarah  Siddons. 

Astonishing  creature, — ambition  almost  obliterated  other 
characteristics.  Her  intellect,  beauty, — fair  and  feminine, 
captivated  Macbeth. 

Her  ambition  makes  her  savage.  Tremendous  suspense  prior 
to  murder.  The  assassination  scene  one  of  horrors.  She  wrench- 
es the  daggers  from  him  ; — deplorable  condition  of  Macbeth. 

Crowned — the  worm  gnawed  at  her  heart — dejected — after- 
wards, listens  to  him — suppresses  her  anguish.  At  banquet — 
apparent  ease,  wretched — affects  calmness — dying  with  fear ; 
trembling  nerves,  frightful  smiles,  overdone  attention,  pain- 
fully entertained,  restless,  and  terrifying  glances  to  him.  Terror, 
remorse,  hypocrisy. 

Sleeping-scene — Appalling ;  starry,  glazed  eyes  ;  fever  of 
remorse,  shadow  of  death  on  their  .lids — smell  of  blood.  The 
delicate  soul  is  overwhelmed  by  the  enormous  pressure  of  its 
crimes.  Too  intellectual  to  be  thoroughly  hateful.  Not  peni- 
tent, in  sleep,  but  haunted  by  terrors.  Bright,  bold  intellect, 
summoned  to  her  destiny.  Superb  depravity — cold,  remorseless 
— hideous  strength  of  mind.  Wounded  monster — splendid 
picture  of  evil — externally  majestic  and  beautiful. 

Large  Theatres. 

A  thousand  shades  of  expression,  and  almost  all  the  beauty 
of  the  voice  are  destroyed  by  a  vast  space,  across  which  they 
cannot  pierce.  Kant  and  grimace  are  then  the  substitutes. 

Ideals. 

The  ideal  of  Kemble  was  authority — a  king  or  ruler ;  of 
Cooke,  skepticism,  as  a  social,  sarcastic  unbeliever ;  of  Kean, 
retribution, — as  a  sufferer,  and  avenger  of  great  wrongs. 


PART    IV. 


CRITICISM   AND   ANALYSIS. 

BY  critical  study  one  is  not  supposed  to  substitute  an  analy- 
sis of  the  products  of  the  arts  for  the  pleasures  which  they 
give.  But  rather  learn  to  see  things  than  to  look  at  them,  and 
to  listen  to  rather  than  to  merely  hear  beautiful  and  agreeable 
sounds,  and  that  our  senses,  in  short,  and  our  sensations  may  be 
developed  by  exercise. 

The  analysis,  when  we  have  acquired  the  habit,  is  sometimes 
made  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning  ;  it  becomes  an  element  in 
our  mode  of  feeling,  to  such  a  degree,  that  it  is  itself  trans- 
formed into  a  sensation. 

None  the  less  pleasure  is  derivable  to  one  of  such  a  power, 
than  to  one  who  blindly  gives  himself  up  to  his  sensations.  He 
never  thinks  of  them  ;  they  are  present  to  his  thoughts  as  if  by 
enchantment. 

Wonderful  effects  come  of  an  organization  improved  by 
study  and  observation  !  Indeed  how  much  more  vivid  are  one's 
enjoyments  if  all  the  desirable  qualities  are  united  in  the  perfect 
performance. 

Perfection  results  from  things  so  delicate,  so  fugitive,  that 
we  cannot  feel  it.  except  so  far  as  these  things  are  within  our 
comprehension  and  we  are  familiar  with  them.  The  merely 
curious  do  not  see  the  difference.  But  perfection  cannot  be 
perceived  until  we  have  learned  to  see  it.  We  must  learn  how 
to  see  it.  The  pleasure  of  the  mere  senses  may  be  disturbed  at 
first,  but  only  to  become  eventually  the  more  vivid.  Study  will 
every  day  become  less  painful,  when  we  shall  have  formed  the  hab- 
it, and  finally  unconscious  as  an  effort  but  rather  a  delight,  and 
sensibility  is  increased,  rather  than  diminished,  beyond  limitation. 


CRITICISM  AND   ANALYSIS.  230 

It  is  difficult  to  explain  in  words  the  just  medium,  or  give  a. 
rule  of  fault  and  beauty.  Even  the  critic  may  talk  about  it  and 
make  neither  his  hearers  nor  himself  the  wiser.  Instinctive  crit- 
icism must  exemplify  and  particularize.  There  is  always  a, 
flutter  on  a  first  view,  which  is  likely  to  confound.  The  relation 
is  not  discerned,  the  true  character  not  distinguished.  Every- 
thing is  indistinct.  Something  florid  and  superficial  pleases  at 
first  but  not  being  compatible  with  reason  it  soon  palls,  and  is- 
rejected.  Comparison  is  a  great  aid.  Lustre  pleases  only  the 
ordinary.  One  relishes  the  sublime,  another  the  ridiculous  ;. 
one  has  sensibilities  to  blemishes,  and  is  studiously  correct ; 
another  delights  in  beauties  and  pardons  all  errors  for  one  elabo- 
rated stroke.  We  are  too  apt  to  notice  faults  and  forget  beauties. 

Criticism. 

Where  there  is  an  absence  of  a  standard,  taste  is  apt  to  run 
to  a  chaotic  condition.  Apply  this  to  acting  ;  now  an  actor  of 
a  good  deal  of  intelligence  and  cleverness,  with  a  mastery  of 
the  mysteries  of  his  art,  will  sometimes  overtop  his  fellows  and 
figure  as  great  in  the  mediocrity  in  which  the  stage  then  exists. 
And  at  such  a  time  one's  defects  may  actually  be  in  excess  of 
his  qualities  and  the  lessons  he  has  not  learned  more  striking- 
than  the  lessons  he  has  learned.  His  aberrations  may  not  be 
of  a  vulgar  quality,  and  one  may  even  like  him  in  spite  of 
them.  Such  a  one  may  not  have  a  dramatic  face  ;  it  may  be 
that  of  a  sedentary  man,  a  clergyman,  a  lawyer,  an  author, 
an  amiable  gentleman — of  anything  but  that  of  an  actor.  His 
figure  may  be  of  the  same  cast,  and  his  voice  may  complete 
the  lacking.  His  voice  may  be  unavailable  for  the  purpose. 
In  acting  he  might  not  speak  badly — but  yet  he  might  not 
speak  at  all,  in  any  way  that,  in  an  actor,  can  be  called  speak- 
ing. He  might  not  even  pretend  to  speak.  The  finest  lines 
might  pass  from  his  lips  without  receiving  the  scantiest  tribute 
to  their  quality.  Of  what  the  French  call  diction— of  the  art  of 
delivery — he  might  not  have  the  slightest  suspicion.  This  forms 
the  greater  part  of  an  actor's  obligations.  It  is  not  simply  to 
be  picturesque,  which  is  often  made  a  specialty.  Above  all, 
before  all,  one  must  have  the  art  of  utterance  to  give  value  to 


240  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

•divine  lines — to  charm  the  ears  and  mind.  It  is  not  pictures- 
•queness ;  by  small  ingenuities  of  "  business,"  and  subtleties  of 
action  ;  as  an  artist  who  "colors"  when  he  cannot  depend  upon 
his  drawing,  where  certain- essentials  are  strikingly  absent  these 
secondary  devices  lose  much  of  their  power. 

The  mass  may  not  be  able  to  judge  of  the  niceties  of  merit 
in  art,  to  appreciate  the  finest  strokes  of  genius,  and  award  their 
plaudits  with  exact  justice.  Their  decisions  are  often  erroneous 
as  they  are  fickle ;  and  competent  judges,  trained  in  critical 
knowledge,  skilled  by  long  experience  to  detect  minutest  shades 
do  not  hesitate  to  rectify  their  errors.  But  the  multitude  are 
able  to  respond  to  impressions  of  power,  to  recognize  the  broad 
outlines  of  a  sublime  soul  swayed  by  genius.  And  in  perceiving 
these  general  evidences  the  people  are  better  and  fairer  judges 
than  any  special  class  of  critics,  because  free  from  finical  likes 
and  dislikes  that  prejudice  and  corrupt. 

The  union  of  feelings  and  principles  is  the  true  foundation 
of  criticism,  and  he  who  does  not  cultivate  a  profound  acquaint- 
ance with  his  own  feelings  cannot  hope  to  become  critical. 
Our  feelings  incline  us  to  truth  even  when  unable  to  assign  a 
•cause.  Principles,  when  we  master  them  and  they  are  perfect, 
agree  with  our  feelings. 

The  feelings  of  him  who  has  enriched  his  mind  with  the 
rules  and  principles  of  beauty,  are  principles  in  themselves. 
The  habit  of  judging  correctly,  induces  the  habit  of  feeling 
correctly.  The  feelings  of  such  a  person  are  hard  to  detect 
from  principles,  so  closely  are  they  allied.  Principles  are  only 
the  feelings  of  mankind  at  large.  The  common  feeling  is  the 
true  one.  Judge  from  knowledge  of  aesthetic  rules,  not  by 
personal  prejudices.  Look  well  to  the  humblest  as  well  as  the 
greatest,  to  the  beautiful  as  well  as  the  grand.  The  present 
may  have  excellences  not  enjoyed  by  the  past. 

Old  time  actors  might  not  possibly  appear  as  favorably  to  us 
and  yet  we  invariably  look  back  to  them  as  to  a  criterion. 

Criticism  to  those  who  give  scope  to  judgment  as  well  as 
fancy,  who  are  governed  by  just  principles  of  the  fine  arts,  is  a 
favorite  and  everlasting  enjoyment.  The  man  upon  whom 
nature  and  culture  have  bestowed  this  power  delights  to  publish 


CRITICISM  AND  ANALYSIS.  241 

to  the  world  the  good  qualities  of  others  but  does  not  brood 
over  errors. 

It  is  only  a  modest  man  that  will  listen  to  criticism.  To  be 
willing  is  a  high  strain  of  humility  ;  to  be  willing  to  mend,  is 
a  still  higher.  How  few  are  great  enough  to  practice  either. 

Public  opinion  is  not  always  a  criterion  of  excellence,  for  it 
is  sometimes  apt  to  be  fanciful,  and  vacillating.  Listen  there- 
fore only  to  competent  judges.  Let  no  praise  be  of  value  but 
that  of  the  heart. 

One  voice  that  blames  has  the  strength  of  ten  that  praise. 

The  armed  eye  beholds  the  stars  ;  the  unarmed  nought  but 
cloud  shadows. — The  worst  is  the  praise  of  a  rascal.  The  first 
effect  of  a  celebrated  name  is  to  inspire  confidence,  but  we  feel 
a  sort  of  distrust  of  an  unknown  name.  Even  if -the  effort  be 
good  we  fear  to  compromise  ourselves.  There  is  much  security 
in  reputation. 

The  first  and  highest  office  of  criticism  is  to  penetrate  the 
motive.  This  includes  inspiration,  intention,  compass,  all.  -  In 
fine  the  spirit ;  the  quality.  Popular  criticism  is  the  external. 
An  actor  must  be  measured  by  the  conception  of  his  poet,  and 
by  the  severe  truth  of  nature,  guarding  from  being  misled  by 
any  adventitious  or  false  effects. 

We  should  always  remember  in  favor  of  the  artist  his  spe- 
cific disadvantage  in  any  effort  to  render  the  super-excellent. 
The  history  of  art  has  more  to  say  of  petty  jealousies  and 
vindictive  malice  than  of  kindness  in  competition. 

The  stage  is  an  arduous  profession,  requiring  so  many  essen- 
tial excellences,  and  accidental  advantages,  that  though  it  is  an 
honor  to  succeed  in  it,  it  is  only  a  misfortune,  and  not  a  dis- 
grace, to  fail.  Those  who  put  themselves  upon  trial  must, 
however,  submit  to  the  verdict,  the  sentence  of  the  public. 

A  new  actor  astonishes  for  a  short  time  and  nobody  knows 
what  to  say  ;  but  the  true  critic  is  not  deceived.  Out  of  love  of 
the  reality  he  is  an  expert  as  to  how  far  he  has  approached  truth 
.and  where  he  has  fallen  short.  He  does  not  lose  sight  of  excel- 
lence in  the  hunger  for  sudden  performance  and  praise.  True 
justice  is  vindictive  to  vice  and  false  art ;  not  personal,  but  to 
the  wrong  done. 


242  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

Noble  art  tends  to  disarm  criticism.     It  is  ideal  at  root. 

False  delicacy  the  most  effeminate,  is  the  most  effectual 
barrier  to  the  progress  of  art.  He  who  fears  to  expose  the  errors 
of  anothei*,  cannot  surely  possess  that  independence  of  mind, 
without  which  the  most  transcendent  talents  can  effect  but  little. 

He  only  is  qualified  to  criticise  who  lifts  himself  above  all 
personal  considerations,  whose  sole  aim  is  truth,  and  who 
wishes  to  see  even  his  own  opinions  disproved,  if  it  be  possible 
to  disprove  them. 

He  who  has  truth  on  his  side,  and  ability  to  support  it,  will 
force  others  to  believe  whether  they  will  or  not. 

Amiable  critics  wish  to  make  every  one  feel  comfortable  at 
the  expense  of  truth  and  the  hindrance  of  progress.  He  who 
fights  for  truth  must  expect  to  take  as  well  as  give  hard  knocks. 
The  wronged  must  work  and  wait. 

The  fictitious  artist  makes  money,  while  the  true  one  all  but 
starves  until  his  merit  is  recognized. 

We  must  adapt  the  great  and  beautiful  conceptions  of  the 
past  until  original  genius  descends  in  fresh  forms. 

We  refine  and  elevate  others  as  well  as  ourselves  by  art 
study.  There  must  be  a  general  diffusion  of  correct  aesthetic 
principles  before  the  public  mind  is  able  to  discriminate  aright. 

Nothing  hits  harder  than  an  exploded  folly  or  delusion. 

The  true  critic  must  be  as  calm  as  the  anatomist  who  uses 
his  dissecting  knife.  It  is  not  only  what  the  artist  is.  but  what 
he  claims  to  be,  that  must  be  considered,  and  the  critic  must  be 
inflexibly  severe  for  art's  sake,  not  stooping  to  personal  motives. 
Some  are  impatient  at  the  least  severity  of  expression,  and 
which  though  true,  gives  pain,  not  only  salutary,  but  necessary. 
Circumstances  however  may  possibly  warrant  modification  of  its 
harshness. 

The  critic  need  not  possess  a  correct  abstract  definition  of 
beauty,  but  a  certain  kind  of  temperament,  the  power  of  being 
deeply  moved.  It  is  beauty  in  many  ways,  all  equal.  It  is  perfec- 
tion of  culture,  not  rebellion,  but  peace  ;  and  only  when  it  realizes 
a  deep  moral  stillness,  has  it  reached  its  end.  It  is  a  certain 
strangeness  ;  an  element  in  all  works  of  art.  It  excites  surprise 
— gives  pleasure  ;  exerts  a  charm  ;  a  sweet,  lovely  strangeness. 


GREAT  DfiBfrrS.  243 

There  is  a  sort  of  criticism  which  consumes  truth  as  rust 
eats  into  iron,  content  to  demolish,  careless  to  rebuild. 

It  is  cheap  and  easy,  however,  to  destroy,  but  despondency 
comes  readily  enough  to  the  most  sanguine.  A  single  word 
from  a  cynic  can  chill  and  dishearten.  This  is  easy ;  but  to 
help  the  young  soul  to  add  energy,  inspire  hope,  and  blow  the 
coals  into  a  useful  flame  is  the  task  of  divine  natures.  Falconers 
tear  out  the  feathers  of  their  hawks,  lest  they  should  fly  too  high. 
Eed  is  the  color  of  youth.  The  critic  stands  near  to  the  artist. 

A  low,  disparaging  estimate  of  the  powers  of  men  depresses 
action  and  enjoyment.  Each  discovered  weakness  increases  the 
bitterness  of  the  heart.  It  chills  the  soul,  benumbs,  disheartens 
and  indisposes  to  effort  by  which  the  spell  might  be  cast  off. 
Contempt  is  the  rust  of  the  soul. 

One  must  have  exquisite  perfection  of  idea  and  the  work 
involved,  to  become  truly  great. 

PREJUDICE. — It  is  well  known,  that  in  all  questions  submit- 
ted to  the  understanding,  prejudice  is  destructive  to  sound  judg- 
ment, and  perverts  all  operations  of  the  intellectual  faculties  ;  it 
is*  no  less  the  opposite  of  good  taste  ;  nor  has  it  less  influence  to 
corrupt  our  sentiments  of  beauty.  It  belongs  to  good  sense  to 
check  its  influence  in  both  cases  (and  in  this  respect,  as  well  as 
in  many  others)  reason,  if  not  an  essential  part  of  taste,  is  at 
least  requisite  to  the  operations  of  this  latter  faculty.  In  all 
the  nobler  productions  of  genius  there  is  a  mutual  relation  and 
correspondence  of  parts ;  nor  can  either  the  beauties  or  blem- 
ishes be  perceived  by  him  whose  thought  is  not  capacious  enough 
to  comprehend  all  those  parts,  and  compare  them  with  each 
other,  in  order  to  perceive  the  consistency  and  uniformity  of 
the  whole.  Every  work  of  art  has  also  a  certain  end  or  purpose 
for  which  it  is  calculated  ;  and  is  to  be  deemed  more  or  less  per- 
fect, as  it  is  more  or  less  fitted  to  attain  it. 

The  cause  of  a  wrong  taste  is  a  wrong  judgment,  and  this 
may  naturally  arise  from  a  want  of  proper  and  well-timed  or 
directed  exercise^  which  alone  can  make  it  strong  and  steady. 
Besides,  that  ignorance,  inattention,  and  all  those  vices  which 
pervert  the  judgment  in  other  matters,  prejudice  it  no  less  in 
this  its  more  refined  and  elegant  province. 


244  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

A  rectitude  of  judgment  in  the  arts,  which  may  be  called 
good  taste,  does,  in  a  measure,  depend  upon  sensibility ;  be- 
cause if  the  mind  has  no  bent  to  the  pleasures  of  the  imagina- 
tion it  will  never  apply  itself  sufficiently  to  works  of  that  species 
to  acquire  a  competent  knowledge  in  them. 

When  the  critic  lies  under  the  influence  of  prejudice  all  his 
natural  sentiments  are  perverted  ;  where  good  sense  is  wanting 
he  is  not  qualified  to  discern  the  beauties  of  design  and  reason- 
ing which  are  the  highest  and  most  excellent.  Under  some  one 
or  other  of  these  imperfections,  the  generality  of  men  labor, 
and  hence  a  true  judge  in  the  fine  arts  is  observed,  even  during 
the  most  polished  ages,  to  be  so  rare  a  character  ;  strong  sense 
united  to  a  delicate  sentiment,  improved  by  practice,  perfected 
by  comparison,  and  cleared  of  all  prejudice,  can  alone  entitle 
critics  to  this  valuable  character. 

Although  prejudices  may  prevail  for  a  time,  they  never  unite 
in  celebrating  any  rival  to  the  true  genius,  but  yield  at  last  to 
the  force  of  nature  and  true  sentiment. 

GREAT   DEBUTS. 

THEKE  is,  perhaps,  no  situation  in  life  so  entrancing  as  one 
of  those  rare  first  nights,  when  some  genius  has  appeared  and 
carried  away  the  audience  in  a  whirl  of  success.  On  the  English 
stage  three  names  in  this  connection  seem  to  stand  preeminent, 
Garrick — Siddons — Kean. 

David  Garrick. — He  had  made  an  experiment  at  Ipswich, 
but  had  appeared  only  a  few  times.  A  young  man  of  short 
stature,  whose  name  was  suppressed,  was  announced  to  make 
his  first  appearance  on  any  stage.  The  play  was  "  Richard  the 
Third."  At  the  nervous  moment,  the  new  actor  came  from 
the  wing.  But  when  he  saw  the  crowded  house  he  was  discon- 
certed, and  remained  a  few  moments  unable  to  go  on.  But  he 
recovered  himself. 

The  surprising  novelty  was  that  he  seemed  to  identify  him- 
self with  the  part.  They  were  amazed  at  his  wonderful  power 
of  feature.  The  stupendous  passions  of  Richard  were  seen  in 


GREAT  DEBUTS.  245 

his  face  before  he  spoke,  and  outstripped  his  words,  and  the 
delighted  audience  found  relief  for  their  emotions  in  rapturous 
shouts  of  applause.  They  seemed  to  discover  this  was  true 
genius  that  was  before  them.  He  took  the  audience  with  him 
in  a  tempest  of  enthusiasm.  What  a  night  to  look  back  to  ! 

On  the  following  morning  he  awoke  and  found  himself  fa- 
mous. His  reception,  "  was  one  of  the  most  extraordinary  that 
was  ever  seen  on  such  an  occasion." 

Sarah  Siddons. — More  interesting,  however,  is  the  story 
of  that  true  heroine,  Mrs.  Siddous.  who.  passing  the  ordeal  of 
a  stroller's  life,  was  admitted  to  the  country  theatres,  and  en- 
gaged by  Mr.  Garrick. 

Her  failure  at  Drury  Lane  is  well  known  ;  for  which  the  jeal- 
ousy of  the  established  actresses,  her  timidity,  with  an  injudi- 
cious selection  of  characters,  were  accountable.  "It  was  a 
stunning  and  cruel  blow,  overwhelming  all  my  ambitions,  and 
involving  peril  even  to  the  subsistence  of  my  helpless  babes.  If 
loas  very  near  destroying  me.  My  blighted  prospects,  indeed, 
induced  a  state  of  mind  that  preyed  upon  my  health,  and  for  a 
year  and  a  half  I  was  supposed  to  be  hastening  to  a  decline. 
However,  I  roused  myself  to  shake  off  this  despondency." 

In  short  she  re-commenced  her  country  drudgery,  and  for 
several  years  labored  hard.  At  last,  in  1782  came  the  longed- 
for  opportunity,  and  she  was  engaged  at  Drury  Lane.  It  was  a 
terrible  experiment.  During  the  whole  two  weeks  previous  she 
was  almost  in  a  nervous  fever.  "  ]^o  wonder,  for  my  own  fate 
and  that  of  my  little  family  hung  upon  it.  The  rehearsals 
commenced.  Who  can  imagine  my  terror  ?  I  feared  to  utter 
a  sound  above  an  audible  whisper,  but  by  degrees  enthusiasm 
cheered  me  into  a  joyfulness  of  my  fears,  and  I  unconsciously 
threw  out  my  voice,  which  failed  not  to  be  heard  in  the  remotest 
part  of  the  house  .by  a  friend  who  kindly  undertook  to  listen. 
After  the  second  rehearsal  I  was  seized  with  a  nervous  hoarse- 
ness and  I  went  to  bed  therefore  in  a  state  of  dreadful  suspense. 
Awaking  the  next  morning  I  found  my  voice  much  clearer.  On 
the  morning  of  my  appearance  my  voice  was,  most  happily,  per- 
fectly restored.  My  father  accompanied  me  to  my  dressing- 


246  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

room  at  the  tlieut.ro.  There  he  left  me,  and  I  in  one  of  what  I 
call  my  desperate  tranquillities  which  usually  impress  me  under 
terrific  circumstances,  there  completed  my  dress  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  my  attendants  without  uttering  one  word,  though  often 
sighing  most  profoundly." 

There  was  a  vast  house,  crammed  to  the  roof.  Her  husband 
had  not  courage  to  be  present,  but  wandered  about  the  streets 
around  the  theatre.  As  she  found  herself  on  the  stage,  she  felt, 
''  the  awful  consciousness  that  one  is  the  sole  object  of  attention 
to  that  immense  space,  lined  as  it  were  with  human  intellect 
from  top  to  bottom,  and  all  around."  She  had  no  need  of  ap- 
prehension. It  was  one  continued  triumph.  As  the  pathetic 
piece  moved  on  there  was  that  one  centre  figure  taking  enthrall- 
ing possession  of  the  audience.  Her  tones  went  to  every  heart ; 
the  agony  of  grief  and  suffering  thrilled  all  present.  At  times 
she  had  all  men's  eyes  suffused  with  tears,  and  many  women  in 
actual  hysterics.  She  was  interrupted  by  bursts  of  tumultuous 
applause,  until  the  whole  house  seemed  swept  away  in  transport. 

She  herself  was  half  dead  with  the  excitement,  and  her  joy 
and  thankfulness  were  of  too  solemn  and  overpowering  a  nature 
to  admit  of  words  or  even  tears.  Arriving  home,  worn  out 
with  continually  broken  rest  and  laborious  exertion,  she  had  an 
hour  of  retrospection,  an  intense  reverie,  and  then  retiring,  fell 
into  a  sweet  and  profound  slumber,  which  lasted  to  the  middle 
of  the  next  day. 

Her  calm,  steady  constancy  may  be  contrasted  with  the  des- 
perate straits  and  tempestuous  victory  of 

Edmund  Kean. — The  history  of  his  miserable  struggle, 
his  privations,  and  gallant  confidence  in  himself  all  through — 
is  familiar.  One  November  night  he  was  playing  in  Dorchester 
to  a  wretched  house,  a  few  people  in  the  pit  and  gallery  and 
three  persons  in  the  boxes.  "  In  the  stage  box.  however,  there 
was  a  gentleman  who  seemed  to  understand  acting  ;  he  was  very 
attentive  to  the  performance.  Seeing  this  I  determined  to  play 
my  best.  After  the  play  the  gentleman  complimented  me 
slightly  upon  my  playing.  '  My  name  is  Arnold  ;  I  am  manager 
of  Drury  Lane  theatre.'  I  staggered  as  if  I  had  been  shot.* 


GREAT  DEBUTS.  247 

His  eldest  child  died  soon  after  and  the  loss  seemed  to  make 
him  indifferent  to  his  future. 

But  when  he  at  last  reached  London,  his  appearance,  and 
some  other  reasons,  discouraged  the  manager.  He  was  treated 
coldly  by  the  actors  at  the  single  rehearsal  which  was  hurried 
through  on  the  morning  of  the  performance.  At  the  close  all 
shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  announced  failure  as  certain. 
As  he  left  his  home  he  muttered,  "I  wish  that  I  was  going  to 
be  shot." 

With  his  boots  soaked  with  the  slush  of  a  dismal  stormy 
evening  he  slunk  into  the  stage-door,  wet  through,  and  crept 
to  a  dressing-room  of  which  he  was  only  allowed  a  share,  and 
dressed  to  the  contempt  of  his  fellows.  When  dressed,  he  went 
to  the  wing  and  saw  an  empty,  cheerless  house  ;  in  the  pit,  about 
fifty  persons.  Then  the  curtain  rose.  Soon  the  audience  began 
to  awaken  to  enthusiasm.  The  presence  and  power  of  genius 
were  acknowledged  in  a  manner  that  shook  the  very  roof. 
'•'  How  the  devil  so  few  of  them  kicked  up  such  a  row,"  said 
Oxberry,  *•'  was  something  marvelous." 

Trembling  with  agitation  and  excitement,  he  took  off  his 
costume  and  resumed  his  old  threadbare  suit,  turned  disdain- 
fully from  the  genuine  applause  of  his  fellow  actors,  and  left  the 
theatre.  Through  the  wet  and  slush  he  rushed  home,  flew  up 
stairs,  and  clasped  his  wife  in  his  arms.  He  poured  out  the 
story  of  his  triumph.  '•'  Mary,"  he  cried,  ''  yon  shall  ride  in  your 
carriage  I  And  Charley,  my  boy,"  turning  to  his  infant  in  the 
cradle,  "  you  shall  go  to  Eton  !  "  Here  his  voice  faltered,  and 
he  murmured  the  name  of  the  child  he  had  so  recently  lost. 

There  is  nothing  in  all  the  annals  of  the  stage  so  dramatic 
or  thrilling  as  this. 


248  ACTIXG   AND    ORATORY. 


CRITICISMS    ON    ACTING   AND 
READINGS. 

Stars. — Mr. acts  Macbeth  in  a  robust  manner,  and  with  extraor- 
dinary force  ;  but  his  performance  is  deficient  in  weirdness  and  in  pathos  ; 
his  physical  presentment  of  the  part  is  hard  and  almost  ferocious,  and  it 
does  not  fascinate — as  it  ought  to  do — by  at  least  the  suggestion  of  innate 
nobility  that  has  been  wrecked  and  ruined  by  all  the  powers  of  evil. 
There  is  something  awful  and  forlorn  in  the  condition  of  the  hell-driven 
Jfurlii  th,  and  the  representative  of  him  should  produce  the  effect  of  pite- 
ousness,  no  less  than  the  effect  of  horror.  It  is  not  a  demon,  but  a  fallen 
angel,  whom  Shakespeare  has  depicted  in  this  personage  ;  and  in  order  to 
prepare  the  way  for  the  delirious  anguish  and  tremendous  sufferings 
through  which  Macbeth  goes  down  to  destruction,  he  has  suffused  the  por- 
traiture with  the  tenderest  humanity.  Mr. wrought  his  best  effects 

in  making  Macbeth  confront  the  imaginary  spectre  of  the  butchered  Ban- 
quo.  He  spoke  most  of  the  text,  however,  in  artificial  and  strenuous 
tones — giving  the  idea  of  vast  exertion,  and  creating  the  effect  of  mouotony 
and  of  conventional  stage  work.  There  were  many  indications  that  Mr. 

ideal  of  Shakespeare's  conception  of  Macbeth  is  high  and  just  and 

right ;  but  he  will  not  succeed  in  making  his  meaning  clear,  and  his  em- 
bodiment adequate,  until  he  tones  down  the  martial  element,  heightens 
the  humanity,  makes  apparent  a  certain  pitiable  element  of  drifting 
weakness,  and  lets  imagination  tinge  the  whole  structure  of  his  work  with 
a  sad,  strange  light,  indicative  of  supernatural  influences  and  of  the  for- 
lorn and  miserable  condition  of  a  noble  nature  that  is  haunted  by  fiends. 
Macbeth  should  make  us  weep  as  well  as  shudder.  The  character  of  Lady 

Macbeth  was  presented  on  this  occasion  by  Miss .     Her  performance 

was  correct  in  mechanical  treatment,  intelligent,  self-possessed,  and,  in  a 

conventional  sense,  satisfactory.     Miss is  a  remarkably  tall  woman, 

dark  in  favor,  and  notable  for  breadth  of  gesture  and  compass  of  voice. 
Her  countenance  is  not  very  expressive  ;  she  did  not  indicate  much  sen- 
sibility ;  and  her  acting  denoted  schooling  much  more  than  personal  in- 
sight or  sympathy  of  dramatic  perception. 

Actress  as  Reader. — The  occasion  doubtless  served  its  coveted  purpose 

in  once  again  introducing  Mrs. to  the  public.      This  energetic  lady, 

who  aspires  to  a  high  place  upon  the  stage, is  possessed  of  certain  obvious 
qualifications — those,  namely,  of  good  stature,  clear  voice,  expressive  coun- 
tenance, trustworthy  memory,  and  a  cultivated  mind.  She  read  last  night 
in  an  intelligent  manner,  but  her  achievement  was  neither  better  nor 
worse  than  would  be  possible  to  nine  out  of  ten  of  all  the  cultivated  ladies- 
in  average  society.  It  was  notable  in  her  recitals  that  her  natural  tones 


CRITICISMS   OX  ACTING   AND  READINGS.  240 

which  are  her  best,  were  reserved  for  the  stage  directions.  In  the  utter- 
ance of  the  text  her  voice  was  invariably  artificial.  Discrimination  as  to- 
character,  however,  was  perceptible  in  the  dramatic  scenes  which  she  in- 
terpreted ;  and  the  correctness  of  her  mechanism  throughout  implied  apti- 
tude, close  study,  and  good  schooling.  Mrs.  gave  the  balcony  scene, 

from  "  Romeo  and  Juliet ;"  but  she  did  not  evince  in  this  either  passion, 
sentiment,  or  poetic  feeling.  She  also  gave  the  quarrel  scene  from  "  The- 
School  for  Scandal," — in  which  her  dramatic  judgment  was  more  evident 
than  her  dramatic  faculty — and  an  extract  from  "  Macbeth."  This  lady, 
it  was  evident,  has — like  many  other  ambitious  beginners — more  knowl- 
edge of  dramatic  action  than  either  power  or  skill  to  use  it.  Mrs.  

would  doubtless  prove  a  useful  actress  for  heavy  parts  in  a  first-class 
stock  company.  The  applause  that  is  usual  on  these  somewhaj;  dubious 
occasions  was  abundantly  bestowed  upon  each  of  her  efforts. 

Stock  Acting. — She  has  played  the  part  too  long.  She  has  survived 
all  feeling  in  it,  and  has  become  stilted  and  mechanical.  One  sees  the- 
stage  directions  in  every  movement.  Three  steps  to  the  right  she  raises- 
her  hands  in  appeal  to  heaven  ;  two  steps  back  and  she  falls  into  some- 
body's arms,  and,  by  the  way,  in  three  acts  of  the  play  she  falls  into- 
somebody's  arms  nearly  twenty  times.  Her  voice  has  all  the  precision 
and  limitation  of  an  automatic  toy.  One  could,  if  acquainted  with  the- 
philosophy  of  sound  waves,  actually  draw  a  diagram  of  her  inflections  by 
merely  reading  her  part.  Everything  she  says  and  does  is  by  rote,  and 
this  is  so  palpable  that  one  regards  her  as  the  perfection  of  mechanism. 
One  or  two  little  bits  of  acting  which  are  done  with  such  velocity  that  one 
cannot  time  the  interval  between  the  cue  and  the  execution  of  a  movement,, 
are  very  effective.  The  trouble  is  that  she  has  shaped  all  her  movements 
by  the  limits  of  a  small  stage.  On  a  large  one  the  picture  must  be  ex- 
panded, and  in  stretching  it  to  fit  a  wider  area  she  has  revealed  the  texture 
to  all  eyes. 

Debutantes. — This  occasion  has  served  to  disclose  another  beginner  in 
the  dramatic  profession,  who  has  begun  at  the  wrong  end  of  the  ladder. 
Miss ,  who  comes  forth  as  Pauline,  exhibited  intelligence,  self-posses- 
sion, and  commendable  force  of  purpose ;  but  her  performance  denoted 
faculties  that  are  commonplace,  and  that  have  not  been  properly  trained. 
To  describe  it  in  detail  would  be,  perhaps,  to  inflict  needless  pain.  The 
character  was  not  correctly  dressed ;  the  text  was  spoken  in  a  thin, 
unsympathetic  voice,  and  was  illustrated  with  much  aimless  and  rather 
awkward  gesture ;  and  altogether,  the  embodiment  appeared  to  be  put 
forward,  not  as  a  work  of  dramatic  art,  but  as  an  assertion  of  individual 

capacity.     There  are  many  women — not  inaptly  represented  by  Miss  , 

who  are  conscious  of  the  desire  for  expression,  and  who  wish  to  be  con- 
spicuously observed  and  admired.  It  is  natural,  doubtless,  that  their 


250  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

disquietude  should  impel  them  toward  the  stage.  It  is  equally  natural 
that  their  lack  of  dramatic  aptitude  and  of  professional  training — which 
means  their  total  inability  to  accomplish  anything  when  they  get  upon 
the  stage — should  fail  to  fascinate  the  public  regard,  or  to  command  crit- 
ical respect  and  commemoration.  The  emergence  of  Miss has  had 

the  effect  of  calling  attention  to  that  lady.  It  strikes,  in  fact,  upon  the 
warning  bell ;  but  why  that  bell  should  be  sounded  is  a  mystery,  and  is 
likely  to  remain  so.  Persons  who  accost  the  public  are  expected,  not  un- 
rt-asouably,  to  disclose  faculties  and  attributes  calculated  to  gratify  the 
public  interest.  This  expectation  is  not  fulfilled  by  Miss .  This  com- 
munity has  often  seen  Pauline  exceedingly  well  acted.  There  is  neither 
sense  nor  propriety  in  the  sudden  projection  of  a  novice  into  that  character. 

These  reinarks  apply  with  equal  force  to  the  recent  ebullition  of 

in  this  same  part,  as  well  as  in  Shakespeare's  Juliet,  at .     Ladies  who 

wish  to  act  ought  to  learn  the  trade,  so  to  speak,  before  they  invite  atten- 
tion to  themselves  as  the  masters  of  it. 

The  debut  of  Miss  last  evening,  at Theatre,  was  welcomed 

by  the  plaudits  of  admiring  friends.  The  lady  was  often  called  before  the 
curtain,  interrupted  many  times  by  applause,  and  duly  cheered  after  each 
of  Juliet's  traditional  points.  We  have  no  doubt  that  she  must  feel  highly 
•encouraged  by  the  result  of  her  bold  experiment.  Nor  did  all  the  encour- 
agement probably  come  from  her  personal  friends.  There  is  something 
winning  in  her  face,  her  voice,  and  her  manner,  which  tells  with  the  cold 
general  public,  and  she  displays  undoubtedly  a  certain  amount  of  talent 
which  interests  if  it  does  not  satisfy  us.  Her  speech  is  not  well  trained, 
but  her  voice  is  flexible  and  naturally  musical.  In  several  passages  of 
the  balcony  scene,  she  represented  very  faithfully  the  charming  ingenu- 
ousness and  simple  ardor  of  the  heroine,  while  for  the  delineation  of 
tragic  passion  she  displayed  no  more  than  the  cleverness  of  a  parlor  ama- 
teur. In  a  word,  Miss has  gifts  which  are  well  worth  cultivation. 

She  has  the  faults  of  all  beginners  ;  too  much  concern  about  her  clothes, 
a  distressing  consciousness  of  having  more  hands  and  arms  than  she  quite 
knew  how  to  dispose  of,  a  fatal  facility  for  getting  into  awkward  posi- 
tions, an  inability  to  fill  a  great  theatre  with  tones  that  have  only  been 
practiced  in  the  drawing-room.  These  are  troubles  which  only  time  will 
cure.  But  a  lady  who  makes  her  first  appearance  on  any  stage  in  the 
character  of  Juliet  begins  her  profession  at  the  wrong  end.  This  is  not  a 
practice-role  for  novices.  There  is  a  common  delusion,  we  believe,  in 
society,  that  to  act  Shakespeare,  and  other  great  dramatists,  comes  by 
nature  ;  'tis  a  pursuit  which  can  be  taken  up  on  the  sudden,  at  any  time 
of  life;  the  dramatic  art  being,  in  this  current  notion,  unlike  all  other 
arts,  which  require  a  long  and  painful  apprenticeship,  hard  study,  much 

thought,  and  much  drudgery.     If  Miss intends  to  adopt  the  stage  as 

&  profession  it  would  be  unkind  to  tell  her  that  she  is  already  an  actress 


CRITICISMS   ON  ACTING    AND  READINGS.  251 

•when  she  has  so  many  of  the  rudiments  still  to  learn.  Genius  asserts 
itself  in  spite  of  the  drawbacks  of  ignorance  and  inexperience  ;  but  this 
lady  is  not  a  genius  ;  she  does  not  touch  the  deepest  cords  of  feeling  ;  and 
as  yet  her  performance  is  never  lighted  up  with  inward  heat.  She  may 
come  to  high  things  by  and  by,  perhaps ;  but  there  is  no  royal  road  to 
eminence  in  any  of  the  arts.  The  only  way  to  reach  the  top  is  to  begin 
at  the  bottom. 

Debut. — Her  halt  and  sort  of  gasp  which  interrupt  the  sense  and 
flow  of  a  sentence  are  utterly  wrong  according  to  every  idea  which  has 
been  taught  for  years.  Her  action  is  often  fine — often  unpolished,  and  in- 
appropriate. She  has  founded  a  new  school  of  gesture,  and  time  alone 
will  tell,  whether  that  school  will  have  other  disciples.  We  sincerely 
hope  that  she  will  take  the  advice  of  some  fair,  impartial  professional 
teacher,  and  will  follow  instruction,  and  then  we  feel  that  her  appearances 
will  be  favored,  enlarged,  and  greatly  enhanced  in  merit. 

The  same. — Her  looks  inspired  us,  but  her  voice !  It  is  so  light,  with 
.so  little  power  and  strength,  so  little  penetration.  It  did  not  reach  to  some 
of  the  more  distant  portions  of  the  house.  There  seems  to  be  an  effort  in 
it,  it  falls  thinly  and  without  resonance.  It  is  a  head  voice,  and  not  a 
•chest  voice,  and  is  never  effectual  of  itself,  but  always  a  drawback. 

The  same. — The  immense  audience  waited  patiently  for  her  entrance. 
There  was  no  flexibility  in  her  voice,  her  attitude,  or  manner.  She  was 
frightened.  She  showed  some  tragic  force,  but  the  lack  of  stage  training 
was  painfully  apparent.  She  walked  the  boards  with  difficulty,  and  every 
step  was  proof  of  the  want  of  knowledge  of  even  the  rudiments  of  her 
new  calling. 

The  same. — She  was  stagey  and  unnatural  in  the  extreme,  with  a 
strange,  high-pitched  tone  often  accompanied  by  a  drawl  and  tremolo  upon 
•certain  words  which  made  her  declamation  seem  exactly  like  that  of  the 
lecture  platform.  The  inference  is  plain  that  she  must  needs  devote  her- 
self to  vocal  culture  before  she  can  begin  to  succeed  as  an  actress.  The 
gamut  of  human  feeling  can  never  be  fitly  sounded  but  by  a  voice  capa- 
ble of  every  delicate  gradation  of  tone,  and  taught — until  method  becomes 
instinct — to  fit  emotions  with  appropriate  tones.  Her  faults  are  almost 
•entirely  those  of  method,  which  may  be  corrected  by  practice.  It  requires 
.strength  and  patience.  Whether  she  has  the  dramatic  instinct,  or  any 
true  dramatic  discrimination  we  doubt,  giving  her  the  most  generous  ben- 
efit of  the  doubt.  Magnetism  she  hardly  seems  to  possess.  The  other 
actors  were  over-anxious,  and  hurt  themselves  by  their  excessive  anxiety 
to  do  well.  Some  were  noisy  and  ungraceful  in  unusual  manner. 

The  same. — If  the  social  welcome  alone  be  considered,  her  stage  advent 
was  successful.  At  points  where  she  could  lecture  she  was  effective.  She 
showed  dramatic  instinct — some  idea  of  execution  and  much  will.  In  art 
she  was  callow.  Her  presence  as  a  queen  was  puny.  Her  voice  was  often 


252  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

nasal  and  tbin.  Her  walk  was  one-sided.  Her  attitudes  were  mostly 
crouclied.  Her  emotion  is  of  the  mind  and  not  the  heart.  She  does  not 
burn,  but  she  glints.  The  face  was  often  set  in  a  stare  to  emphasi/c  a 
tigerish  self-restraint.  Her  performance  was  a  potent  exhibition  of  per- 
sonal character,  but  it  lacked  the  attributes  that  charm.  Mistakes  are  not 
less  mistakes  because  they  are  made  with  talent  and  vigor.  We  see  no- 
reason  to  encourage  the  idea  that  she  is  an  actress  because  she  dresses 
herself  in  four  gorgeous  robes  and  goes  into  an  ecstasy  of  elocution. 

The  audience  was  large  and  friendly.  The  lady  who  played  the  title 
r6le,  is  one  of  those  fatally  mistaken  women  who,  incited  by  the  applause 
of  friends  and  their  own  over-confidence,  spring  from  the  parlor  to  the 
stage,  not  content  with  playing  a  small  part,  they  assume  a  leading  rule, 
and  thereby  make  their  faults  the  more  conspicuous.  She  has  not  the  first 
requisite  for  a  good  actress.  She  is  without  style,  without  magnetism,  and 
utterly  without  talent,  and  the  kindest  thing  is  to  tell  her  so  at  once. 
Eight  baskets  of  flowers  were  passed  to  the  debutante  from  one  stage  box, 
but  for  all  that  she  was  not  quite  reassured,  and  it  was  very  evident  that 
she  suffered  from  nervousness. 

She  is  not  adapted  to  the  tragic  stage,  either  physically,  emotionally, 
or  mentally.  Her  Medea  was  a  large,  aquiline,  hard-featured  woman 
with  a  thin,  metallic  voice,  and  with  a  vast  native  capacity — such  as  we 
have  seldom  seen  equaled,  and  never  surpassed — for  ungainly  attitudes, 
angular  gestures,  facial  distortion,  and  hurried  and  lachrymose  utterance, 
prowling  to  and  fro  across  the  scene,  in  that  incessant  way  which  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  flurried  novice. 

If  she  wishes  to  become  an  actress,  she  ought  to  join  a  stock  company, 
and  learn  the  business  of  the  profession.  Such  exploits  as  this  do  no  good 
to  those  concerned  in  them,  and  only  make  the  stage  absurd. 

There  was  a  goodly  audience  at  the •  Theatre,  and  it  regarded  the 

performance  as  a  comedy,  greeting  many  of  the  stately  and  passionate  pas- 
sages with  hearty  merriment.  lacks  one  or  two  requisites  in  tragedy. 

Tragic  ability,  may  be  considered  the  chief.  Her  voice  is  not  strong,  her 
elocution  is  bad,  her  stage  conduct  amateurish  and  unemphatic.  When  it 
is  said  that  she  cannot  express  the  depth  of  emotion  that  belongs  to  Medea, 
it  is  not  necessary  to  say  that  she  does  not  even  understand  it. 

Nothing  is  so  easy  as  sharp  censure  in  criticising  theatrical  debutantes; 

nothing  so  hard  as  truthful  analysis  of  failure  and  success. whose 

Medea  was  treated  so  harshly  by  some  of  our  critics,  has  shown  this  during  a 

strange  week  at Theatre.   Any  one  else  would  have  been  killed  the  first 

night  but had  pluck,  kept  on,  and  finally  got  the  balance  in  her  favor, 

closing  her  week  with  good  houses.     The  critics  who  were  so  hasty  to  cry 


CRITICISMS   ON  ACTING   AND   READINGS.  253 

•"  failure,"  could  not  see  that  the  first  fiasco  was  due  almost  wholly  to  a 
.single  person  breaking  down  and  disorganizing  the  company.  A  Creusa 
fainting  in  the  first  act,  and  a  second  lady  reading  her  part  from  a  book 
are  pretty  hard  things  to  get  over,  and  most  actresses  would  have  given 

way  to  the  terrible  weight  of  ridicule  and  left  the  stage  for  good.     , 

it  seems,  stuck  bravely  to  her  work,  played  through  the  week,  improving 
«very  night,  and  closed  with  a  smooth  play,  well  acted,  to  a  good  and  ap- 
preciative audience.  Her  voice,  with  which  the  critics  found  so  much 
fault  the  first  night,  when  nervous  anxiety  almost  overcame  her,  became 
strong,  and  full,  and  the  end  of  it  was  that  many  who  came  to  laugh,  at- 
tracted by  the  sneers  of  the  amateur  critics,  remained  to  praise  and  ad- 
mire. So  much  for  pluck.  ,  by  sheer  persistence  has  turned  the  tide. 

She  will  appear  again,  we  understand,  in  a  new  American  play. 

Miss ,  a  young  lady  who  recently  acted  Juliet  to  the  delight  of  a 

large  and  critical  audience  in repeated  the  performance  at Thea- 
tre yesterday  evening.  To  commit  to  memory  a  part  of  such  length  and 
elaborateness  of  language,  to  interpret  some  of  the  emotions  of  so  complex 
a  personage  with  naturalness  and  impressiveness,  while  conveying  the 
idea  that  the  actress  comprehends  the  significance  of  all,  and  to  move 
about  the  stage,  through  the  five  acts  of  the  play,  with  ease,  and  often 
with  effectiveness  and  grace,  is  to  accomplish  a  great  deal.  When  it  13 
borne  in  mind  that  Miss is  only  fourteen  years  of  age,  the  achieve- 
ment must  be  spoken  of  as  extraordinary.  The  aspirant  to  fame  is  a  rather 
tall  and  not  uncomely  maiden,  with  a  bright  and  intelligent  countenance 
and  an  exuberance  of  girlish  spirits.  She  understands  the  character  she 
represents,  and  if  there  are  any  of  its  phases  which  she  has  not  fully  un- 
derstood, explanation  does  not  seem  to  have  been  wanting.  She  is  partic- 
ularly deficient  in  pathos,  and,  naturally,  most  happy  in  the  early  love- 
passages  of  the  piece.  Hence  she  played  the  balcony-scene  with  consid- 
erable natural  charm,  vivacity,  and  variety  of  method.  The  interviews 
with  the  Nurse  also  went  well,  and,  in  the  meeting  with  Romeo  in  the 
•cell,  there  were  touches  of  genuineness  which  were  more  than  worth  the 
studied  work  which  was  to  follow.  The  potion  scene  and  the  proceedings 
in  the  cemetery,  while  they  were  undoubtedly  clever,  had  none  of  the 
spontaneousness  of  the  previous  incidents  to  commend  them  to  special  ap- 
proval. Miss ,  besides,  lacks  the  physical  strength  requisite  to  per- 
formances of  this  kind,  and  any  number  of  agonizing  gestures  and  heavy 
"  falls  "  will  not  make  amends  for  the  want  of  breadth  by  which  the 
method  of  a  fourteen-year-old  girl  must  be  characterized,  or  atone  for 
vocal  feebleness.  It  were  needless,  however,  to  enter  into  further  details 
concerning  the  representation.  It  can  be  dismissed  with  the  statement 

that  it  showed  Miss to  be  a  young  lady  of  marvelous  precocity,  and 

favored  with  a  fitness  for  the  stage  very  seldom  observable  in  the  morning 
of  a  debutante's  life.  It  did  not  reveal  a  new  Juliet  or  one  mature  enough 


254  ACTI Mi    A\D    ORATORY. 

in  thought  and  power  of  expression  to  compete  with  the  older  heroines, 
and  if  she  is  to  attain  distinction — and  she  can  certainly  do  so — she  will 
have  to  place  her  foot  upon  a  lower  round  of  the  ladder  and  waste  as  little 
time  as  possible  upon  "  her"  conception  of  Shakespeare's  personage. 

A  prodigy  (child)  in  any  art,  music,  acting,  etc.,  never  expresses  any- 
thing, and  is  generally  very  crude  and  unfinished  even  though  for  a  child 
its  performances  may  be  very  wonderful. 

When  we  first  saw  Miss upon  the  stage,  the  question  raised  by  her 

performance  was  the  question  whether  it  is  possible  for  a  woman  to  suc- 
ceed as  an  actress  in  the  highest  line  of  dramatic  art,  who  attempts  the 
theatre  in  mature  life  and  without  a  theatrical  education.  Miss rep- 
resentation did  not  leave  us  long  in  doubt.  It  was  not  only  crude  ;  it  was 
not  only  deficient  of  that  sort  of  talent  which  is  specifically  called  dramat- 
ic ;  but  it  displayed  a  mind  and  temperament  rigidly  and  inflexibly  deter- 
mined upon  the  self-assertion  which  is  totally  incompatible  with  the 

assertion  of  identities  distinct  from  self.  Miss presented  Miss 

and,  being  considerably  flurried,  did  not  present  her  to  great  advantage. 

Miss is  a  type  of  force  ;  and  as  a  type  of  force  she  was  sufficiently 

successful. 

Firmness,  combativeness,  primness,  acerbity,  loquacity,  mental  suffi- 
ciency, and  a  kind  of  shimmering  metallic  hardness  of  disposition  were 
the  salient  elements  of  this  embodiment.  To  summarize  it  in  a  sentence, 
we  should  call  it  executive  cleverness  masquerading  uuskillfully  in  the 
apparel  of  a  queen,  and  vainly  pretending  to  be  swayed  by  human  emotion. 

Miss at  certain  points  in  her  performance,  addresses  the  adjacent 

dramatis  personae  with  a  physical  thrill  and  with  an  oratorical  tremor  of 
the  voice  which  are  exceedingly  effective  ;  but  these  potencies,  which 
would  be  merits  in  an  address,  are  blemishes  in  a  personation — since  they 
are  extraneous  to  its  substance  :  and,  aside  from  these,  her  acting  is  level 
lameness.  Much  excitement  seems  to  smolder  beneath  the  surface  of  the 
personality  ;  but  it  finds  no  adequate  and  therefore  no  impressive  vent. 
The  voice,  sweet  in  certain  low  notes,  was  almost  uniformly  flat.  The 
tones  were  often  inaudible  altogether ;  and  at  passionate  moments,  they 
either  rose  into  thin  shrillness  or  shivered  into  a  strange  brogue.  The 
more  it  became  artistically  needful  that  passion  should  be  uttered,  the 
more  the  performer  seemed  to  become  concentrated  upon  herself.  This  is 
excitation  of  the  mind,  not  of  the  feelings  ;  a  trick  of  oratory,  useful  on 
the  platform,  but  not  an  expression  of  spontaneous  emotion,  and  therefore 
useless  on  the  stage.  The  muttering  of  the  thunder  storm  may  be  good,  the 
full  burst  of  its  fury  is  much  better.  In  carriage  of  the  head  the  lady 
gives  way  to  a  displeasing  mannerism  ;  her  gestures  were  bad  because 
lacking  in  breadth  and  significance,  and  her  movements  across  the  stage 
were  constricted,  small,  and  almost  dwarfish,  where  they  should  be  large, 
free,  and  tumultuous. 


CRITICISMS   ON  ACTING   AND   READINGS.  255 

*  *  *  appeared  here  as  the  latest  and  in  some  respects  the  best  expo- 
nent of  the  American  notion  that  good  acting  is  a  matter  wholly  of  natural 
abilities,  not  at  all  of  acquired  skill. 

All  her  credentials  were  from  the  admirers  of  youth  and  the  hasty  dis- 
coverers of  genius.  Special  significance  was  given  to  the  fact  that  she 
lacked  experience  and  was  only  nineteen  years  of  age.  Special  praise  was 
therefore  expected  for  that  intuition,  inspiration,  endowment,  or  whatever 
it  might  be,  which  enabled  a  girl  to  assume  heroic  and  tragic  roles  and 
win  public  applause  for  her  endeavors. 

So  anxiously  has  the  playhouse  public  for  years  been  looking  for  the 
genius  which  playhouse  literature  is  continually  talking  about ;  so  thor- 
oughly has  it  accepted  the  notion  of  the  playhouse  rhapsodists  that  histri- 
onic genius  is  above  discipline  and  superior  to  ordinary  methods  of  culture, 
it  came  with  alacrity  to  the  recognition  of  an  actress,  who,  whatever  else 
might  be  said  of  her,  had  not  at  least  been  even  modified  or  in  any  way 
influenced  by  culture. 

And  so  eager  is  the  popular  mind  to  accept  unformulated  power,  and 
to  discover  some  exhibition  of  energy  which  transcends  the  classification 
of  criticism  as  it  transcends  the  reason  of  the  observer,  that,  it  jumped 
willingly  upon  this  occasion,  as  upon  all  others,  to  the  easy  conclusion 
that  Miss was  born  an  immortal. 

Once  having  fixed  upon  an  exhibitor  as  an  idol  to  be  worshipped  in  all 
its  vagaries,  the  public  view  with  something  like  personal  animosity  every 
attempt  to  adjust  the  favorite's  efforts  to  the  requirements  of — not  an 
ideal,  but  only — an  intelligent  art. 

"  Genius"  is  the  gilded  extinguisher  which  is  put  adroitly  over  all  her 
shortcomings.  And  so  shallow  are  many  of  those  who  admire  her  most 
that  they,  being  unable  to  find  any  reason  for  much  that  she  does,  have 
gladly  adopted  the  alternative  of  believing  that  it  is  done  by  virtue  of  a 
power  which  transcends  realism. 

The  fact  is,  some  of  us  are  so  wholly  ignorant  of  the  distinctions  between 
talent  and  genius  that  we  mete  out  our  recognition  and  tributes  to  min 
strels,  mimes,  and  melodramatic  accidents  with  equal  prodigality. 

When  Ingomar  of  Salvini  was  played  upon  the  Academy  stage  the 
Parthenia  of  that  representation  won  her  audience,  as  she  won  the  barba- 
rian, by  a  thousand  feminine  arts  for  which  we  have  no  words,  but  which 
together  make  up  the  splendid  phenomenon  we  call  a  gentle,  irresistible 
woman.  Her  disgust  and  contempt  for  Polydor  were  so  infectious  that  we 
hated  him  instinctively.  Her  affection  for  her  father  was  so  solicitous,  so 
unmistakably  consanguineous  and  tender,  that  we  pitied  him  for  her  sake. 
Her  method  with  Ingomar  was  such  a  mingling  of  womanly  craft  and 
womanly  fear,  admiration,  love,  gentleness,  and  courage,  varied,  alterna- 
ted, and  combined  with  an  appropriate  set  of  expressions,  facial  and  tonal 
for  each,  that  we  understood,  in  the  lucent  stream  of  her  endeavor,  all  the 


•256  ACTIM;  A.\D  ORATORY. 

shades  of  character,  the  motives  and  impulses  that  were  at  the  bottom 
of  it. 

Hers  follows  the  broad  current  of  stock  excellence  and  tradition.  It  shows 
no  new  insight,  no  new  imaginative  or  creative  force.  It  seizes  upon  the 
theatric  prominences  provided  time  out  of  mind,  and  does  not  evolve  any 
new  spiculce  for  us  to  hang  our  sympathy  or  thoughts  upon.  It  is  the  Par- 
thenia of  a  girl  whose  courage  and  craft  are  negative  virtues,  for  she  has 
no  definite  purpose  in  them.  Her  contempt  for  Polydor  is  in  the  same  key 
and  color  as  her  solicitude  for  Myron,  and  this,  likely,  is  because  the 
actress's  sensibilities  are  either  not  acute  or  they  are  not  transmitted  flu- 
ently. The  scene  with  her  sordid  lover  owes  its  charm  not  to  her  situa- 
tion, which  she  fails  to  make  us  feel,  but  to  her  picturesqueness,  which 
*he  never  fails  to  make  us  see. 

So  far  as  such  exhibition  of  means  betrays  intellectual  condition  we  think 

we  are  warranted  in  saying  that  Miss may  feel  and  think  strongly, 

but  as  yet  has  not  learned  to  feel  and  think  acutely.  Her  pathos  is  a  finely 
intoned  but  unsympathetic  affair.  She  employs  the  patent  symbols  of 
suffering  with  an  affluent  ease  that  inspires  confidence.  She  never  uses 
them  with  the  sharp,  infallible  veracity  that  goes  to  the  heart. 

It  is  the  palpable  immaturity  of  intelligence,  combined  with  the  marked 
maturity  of  expression,  that  gives  a  puzzling  peculiarity  to  this  actress's 
work. 

She  appears  to  have  been  born  with  the  formulae  of  the  stage  at  her 
<5ommand.  She  has  the  coolness,  the  aplomb,  the  self-reliance,  and  the 
spontaneity  of  movement  that  we  find  only  in  a  player  of  long  experience. 
The  moment  she  is  "  on  "  every  one  is  at  ease.  Every  endeavor  commands 
•confidence. 

But  this  very  proficiency  betrays  a  narrow  mental  view.  A  deeper  in- 
sight into  the  intricacies,  the  possibilities,  the  perplexities  of  human  na- 
ture would  give  the  actor  pause.  A  reflective  mind  points  out  unerringly 
that  one  formula  will  not  fill  all  fancies.  The  loves  of  Pauline,  Parthenia, 
Juliet,  and  Evadne  may  not  require  differing  talents,  but  they  do  require 

different  treatment,  and   it  is  because  Miss adjusts  them  all  with 

charming  innocence  to  the  narrow  gauge  of  her  experience  that  pro- 
nounces her  intelligence  immature. 

The  truth  is,  the  stage  needs  intelligence  much  more  than  it  needs  any- 
thing else  ;  for,  as  Lewes  very  sensibly  remarks,  "  it  is  because  few  actors 
are  sufficiently  reflective  that  good  acting  is  so  rare,  and  the  tameness  of  a 
few  who  are  reflective,  but  not  passionate,  brings  discredit  on  reflection." 

Miss Parthenia  is  a  purely  conventional  piece  of  work — of  supe- 
rior dimensions.  Its  largeness,  firmness,  and  freedom  do  not  quite  atone 
for  its  want  of  fineness,  delicacy,  and  originality.  It  lacks  the  seizing 
power  of  an  impersonation  which  has  conviction  under  it  and  enthusiasm 
all  around  it.  It  does  not  stand  out  distinct  from  all  the  Parthenias,  an 
embodiment  to  be  remembered  even  for  the  ardor  and  individuality  which 


CRITICISMS   ON  ACTING   AND  READINGS.  257 

a  young  actress  of  extraordinary  abilities  can  give  to  an  erroneous  or  in- 
adequate conception. 

The  elements  and  attributes  of  Lear  are  not  obscurely  furnished.  He 
comes  before  us,  at  the  first,  an  old  man,  but  not  decrepit — a  man  who  is 
beginning  to  break,  but  who  is  not  yet  broken.  He  is  venerable,  massive, 
and  majestic  in  aspect.  He  still  wears  dominion  in  his  countenance.  He 
is  exceedingly  tender  in  heart  and  magnanimous  in  disposition.  His  age 
is  that  of  simplicity  and  goodness ;  but  his  mind  is  blindly  suspicious  of 
its  own  decadence  ;  and  he  will  prove  exacting,  irrational,  fiery,  capricious, 
and  unpleasant — after  the  fashion  of  choleric  and  selfish  senility.  In  the 
fibre  of  his  character,  however,  in  his  essential  personality  and  interior 
spirit,  he  is,  above  all  things,  large.  He  is  not  a  common  man  grown  old. 
He  must,  all  his  life,  have  carried  with  him  the  stamp  and  the  magnetism 
of  a  great  and  charming  nature.  He  must  have  captured  hearts  and  ruled 
minds  by  something  beautiful  and  strong  in  his  fate.  He  does  not  hold 
royalty  by  lineage  or  human  law,  but  by  divine  endowment.  He  is  born 
to  the  purple.  He  is  a  mountain  in  the  midst  of  a  plain  ;  and  the  crum- 
bling of  his  mind  is  like  the  fall  of  the  avalanche.  Unless  he  be  supplied 
with  this  immaculate  and  charming  excellence,  endowed  with  this  innate 
majesty,  and  invested  with  this  personal  grandeur,  his  experiences,  his  suf- 
ferings, his  frenzy,  his  senile  insanity,  and  the  whirlwind  of  agony  in 
which  he  dies  will  all  be — in  comparison  with  what  they  ought  to  be — 
non-sequent  and  puny.  It  must  not  be  old  Brdbantio  or  old  Capulet  that 
goes  mad :  it  must  be  old  Lear;  and  when  this  awful  presence  totters, 
with  streaming  white  hair  and  blazing  eyes,  across  the  thunder-riven 
•heath,  under  the  night  and  tempest,  he  must  break  our  hearts  not  alone 
with  afflicting  sense  of  the  torment  into  which  he  has  fallen,  but  of  the 
lovable  nobility  from  which  he  fell.  No  felicity  of  mechanism  in  the  per- 
sonation of  King  Lear — neither  appropriateness  of  dress,  nor  dignity  of 
bearing,  nor  pomp  of  elocution,  nor  feverous  excitement,  nor  minute  and 
accurate  portrayal  of  the  physical  consequences  of  mental  disease,  nor 
deft  use  of  theatrical  expedients  in  the  great  moments  of  the  play — will 
atone  for  the  lack  of  this  august  and  splendid  personality.  Mr. per- 
sonation of  King  Lear  may,  indeed,  make  the  observer  think  of  this  per- 
sonality ;  but  it  does  not  make  him  feel  it.  The  true  ideal  may  shine 
forth,  clearly  enough,  through  the  cold,  white  light  of  the  intellect :  it 
does  not  blaze  upon  us  through  the  gorgeous  prism  of  the  feelings.  If  it 
be  a  work  of  genius  at  all,  it  is  a  work  of  that  genius  which  walks  with 
difficult,  uncertain  steps  along  mountain  pathways  unfamiliar,  unconge- 
nial, and  oppressive. 

Unless  Lear  be  greatly  embodied, — and  the  embodiment  be  sustained 
upon  an  even  key  of  greatness, — it  goes  for  little.  Splendid  points  and 
fine  outbursts  will  not  irradiate  it  with  the  indispensable  magic  charm. 
Mr. presents,  as  to  outward  semblance,  a  venerable,  picturesque  old 


258  ACTING   AND   ORATORY. 

man;  his  poses  are  broad  and  fine  ;  his  identification  with  his  ideal  is  con- 
sistently kept ;  his  performance  is  steadily  competent  in  intelligence  ;  and, 
particularly  in  the  third  act,  his  portrayal  of  the  old  monarch's  fluctuating 
moods  is  truthful,  animated,  and  telling.  But  the  age  is  youth's  obvious 
simulation  of  age  ;  the  elocution  is  monotonous ;  the  voice  is  oftener 
querulous  than  touching  ;  the  physique  is  slender,  nervous,  wiry,  and 
compact — when  it  should  be  massiveness  shattered  ;  and  the  quality  of  the 
spirit  is  thin.  In  the  first  act — which  was  beautifully  arranged  and  very 
ably  played — there  was  an  absence  of  weight.  The  curse,  though  effec- 
tive, did  not  spontaneously  find  its  own  way,  but  was  forced  and  flurried, 
and  the  emotion  of  it  was  more  angry  than  terrible.  If  we  say  that  here, 
as  at  almost  every  later  point,  a  compact  brain  dominated  the  situation 
and  a  clear  art-purpose  failed  to  conceal  its  mechanism,  we  shall  indicate 

the  significant  truth.     Lear  does  not  shine  through  Mr.  ,  but   Mr. 

strenuously  labors  with  Lear.    He  will  be  honored  for  the  nobleness 

of  his  effort ;  for  the  correctness  of  his  ideal ;  for  his  obvious  scholarship  ; 
for  the  magnificent  art  with  which  he  pictures  the  faded,  washed-out  as- 
pect of  brooding  sorrow,  remorseful  over  the  half-suspected  wrong  to 
Cordelia  ;  for  two  or  three  such  tender  touches  as  the  speech  to  Goneril, 
"  Mend  when  thou  canst ;"  and  for  the  pervading  tone  of  reverence  for  & 
great  subject  which  is  visible  in  his  entire  treatment  of  the  character. 

But  Mr. was  not  found  to  be  strong  in  the  mad  scenes,  or  terrible  in 

the  fitful  delirium  that  precedes  them;  he  fell  far  short  of  greatness  in 
the  imprecation  upon  the  two  daughters — the  thrilling  shrill  yell  of  frenzy 
which  ends  in  "  the  terrors  of  the  earth  ;"  and  the  nature  that  he  revealed, 
as  the  basis  of  his  creation,  though  sweet,  was  thin.  This  word  is  not  a 
happy  one — but  the  reader  understands  that  Lear  ought  to  possess  enor- 
mous capacity  of  suffering  and  of  the  leonine  display  of  passion  ;  and 
that  the  actor,  in  this  instance,  gave  the  impression  of  inadequate  depth. 
It  is  not  until  a  man  has  plunged  into  the  abyss  of  suffering  which  lies 
under  sin  as  well  as  affliction — not  until  a  heart  naturally  deep  has  been 
torn  from  all  moorings  and  driven  out  upon  the  gale-swept  ocean  wastes 
of  misery — that  such  moments  of  torture  and  frenzy  are  wholly  possible 
to  him  in  art.  They  cannot  be  reached  by  the  process  of  the  intellect 

alone.     Mr. uses  his  powers  in  Lear  with  remarkable  skill;  but  the 

character  is  too  much  for  his  present  capacity  of  expression,  and  those 
who  most  admire  his  genius  will  find  themselves  constrained,  in  any 
thoughtful  estimate  of  this  effort,  to  pause  upon  details  and  specific  ex- 
cellences, and  regret  the  lack  of  a  round  and  finished  grandeur. 

The  attendance  was  quite  numerous,  and  the  young  performer  was 
kindly  received.  Miss is  fortunate  in  her  winning  personal  appear- 
ance, and  she  showed  herself,  upon  this  occasion,  to  be  an  intelligent,  and 
— in  the  adroit  use  of  a  somewhat  thin  voice — a  skillful  reader.  Her 
powers,  in  thia  line  of  art,  are  not,  however,  conspicuously  above  the  gen- 


CRITICISMS   ON  ACTING   AND  READINGS.  259 

eral  average.  Readers  ought  to  possess  distinctly  exceptional  ability,  who 
come  into  the  public  view  with  what — save  in  the  rarest  instances — is  lit- 
tle more  than  a  private,  parlor  accomplishment.  Without  intending  harsh 

reflection  upon  Miss ,  whose  talents  may  win  her  real  distinction,  if 

properly  and  thoroughly  trained  and  developed — it  may  be  said  that  the 
disposition  evinced  by  so  many  persons,  to  bore  other  people  with  their 
elocutionary  efforts,  is  selfish  and  vain  and  not  a  little  unjust  and  pre- 
sumptuous. 

CRITIQUE. — Her  debut  a  lamentable  failure.  Tried  again  but  all  to  no 
purpose ;  cold,  stiff,  mediocre,  people  disgusted.  A  hopeless  nonentity. 
Her  personal  sufferings,  however,  revealed  new  chords  ;  had  seen  life  and 
then  rendered  it  with  intense  reality.  Hers  was  a  tardily  developed 
genius.  Now,  the  finest,  most  astonishing.  Careless  in  speech,  provok- 
ing in  silence,  active  in  action,  elegant  in  gesture  ;  or,  she  shrieks  and 
appeals,  and  one  forgets  to  applaud.  Her  joy  is  real,  and  her  tears  are 
real.  Her  originality  was  trenchant,  her  capacity  supreme. 

He  was  artificial,  that  is  to  say  self-conscious,  perpetually  studious  of 
effect,  and  shallow  in  emotion.  But  had  a  thorough  education  in  the  act- 
or's art.  His  bearing  was  pompous,  and  his  elocution  stately  and  stilted. 
His  acting  did  not  inspire  affectionate  interest.  \ 

If  she  was  not  a  great  artist,  she  certainly  was  a  very  remarkable  ex- 
ample of  elemental  power.  She  had  a  wildness  of  emotion,  a  force  of 
brain,  a  vitality  in  embodiment,  and  many  indefinable  magnetic  qualities, 
that  combined  to  make  her  exceptional  among  human  creatures.  Those 
who  saw  her  then  saw  a  woman  unusual  for  personal  charms — strong  and 
fine  in  physique,  with  dark  hair,  dark  eyes,  and  a  beautiful  white  com- 
plexion— but  more  unusual  for  an  electrical  sympathy  of  temperament 
that  captivated  every  heart.  When,  in  the  first  act  of  "  Camille,"  she 
used  to  rush  forward  and  sob  out  the  exclamation,  "  Respect  me — and  in 
this  house,"  she  made  the  heart  of  every  man  who  heard  her  stand  still  in 
his  bosom  ;  and  when  she  parted  from  the  lover  whom  she  never  meant  to 
see  again  in  this  world,  her  agony  was  so  great  and  so  real  that  few  men 
could  look  upon  its  exhibition.  Hers  was  not,  perhaps,  the  power  of  the 
imagination — that  seizes  upon  an  ideal  and  enables  the  artist  to  rise  out  of 
this  actual  world  and  embody  a  creature  of  the  poetic  brain,  like  Lady 
Macbeth — but  hers,  beyond  all  doubt,  was  the  human  woman's  heart,  that 
had  sounded  every  depth  of  passion  and  could  embrace  all  possible  expe- 
rience of  woman  in  that  world  of  love  which  is  so  essentially  her  own. 
And  while  she  was  thus  human  and  passionate  in  fibre,  she  was  weird  and 
fascinating  in  her  individuality.  All  her  ways  were  her  own — and  the 
eye  followed  her  with  a  strange  kind  of  delight  at  absolute  newness  and 
formidable  sincerity.  She  often  failed  to  satisfy  the  intellect,  with  refer- 


260  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

ence  to  classic  forms  of  ancient  literature,  or  to  set  molds  of  modern  char- 
acter. Her  Medea,  for  example,  was  half  a  prowling  maniac  and  half  a 
reckless  slouch — with  now  and  then  a  gleam  of  fateful  fury,  like  fire  that 
streams  through  the  suddenly  opened  mouth  of  the  volcano  ;  and  her 
Edith,  and  Sibyl,  and  Genddine  were  erratic  and  bizarre  figures,  only  to 
be  remembered  for  strong  and  surprising  points.  But  no  spectator  of  her 
acting  ever, — till  her  powers  were  on  the  wane, — missed  the  sense  of  an 
original,  vigorous,  brilliant,  and  startling  personality.  She  was  an  actress 
of  the  passions — and  of  the  passions  in  their  universal  ebb  and  flow.  This 
sort  of  a  nature,  unless  it  be  curbed  by  a  prodigious  moral  sense  and  in- 
tellect, inevitably  breaks  all  the  bounds  of  a  serene  life. 

Her  effort  was,  seemingly,  based  upon  the  model  of  Charlotte  Cush- 
nian ;  and  although  nervous,  flurried  and  rough,  it  was  exceedingly  good. 
Her  attitudes  were  large  and  weird,  and  they  comported  entirely  well  with 
the  awfulness  and  isolation  of  human  misery,  which  are  the  spirit  of  the 
scene.  Her  voice,  also — in  a  rich  variety  of  cadence  that  broke  through 
the  characteristic  monotone — denoted,  if  not  the  remediless  agony  of  a 
conscience-stricken,  broken-hearted,  hopeless  criminal,  at  least  such  per- 
ceptions of  sorrow  as  awoke  the  quick  response  of  sympathy  and  grief. 
And  the  work,  though  imitative — as.  indeed,  it  well  might  be,  for  the 
highest  intelligence  and  best  capacity  could  not,  in  some  things,  go  be- 
yond what  has  already  been  done — was  full  of  imagination.  Miss at 

present,  would  not  act  Lady  Macbeth,  competently,  throughout ;  but  her 
achievement,  in  this  bit  of  the  part,  was  another  and  a  clear  indication  of 
latent  intensity.  It  would  not  be  easy  for  the  most  emotional  and  expe- 
rienced actress  to  throw  herself  at  once  into  the  terrible  anguish  and  pite- 
ous remorse  with  which  the  sleep  scene  of  Lady  Macbeth  is  surcharged. 
Miss acquitted  herself  bravely  of  a  most  arduous  task.  It  was  nota- 
ble, in  this  piece  of  acting,  that  her  emphasis  was  not,  as  it  has  so  often 
been  in  other  performances,  wrongly  distributed ;  that  her  pronunciation 
was  pure.  The  dressing  was  conventional ;  white  robes,  with  a  straggling 
wisp  of  dark  hair  escaping  through  the  folds  of  the  head-gear. 

Janauschek  sacrificed  a  year  to  learn  the  English  language  and  studied 
fifteen  hours  a  day.  Modjeska  learned  English  in  six  months. 

Miss spoke  with  agreeable  frankness  of  herself  to  the  reporter 

of  The  .      "  My   daily  life,"  she  said,    "  is  bare  and  simple  enough, 

though  it  may  seem  smooth  and  pleasant  to  one  who  looks  at  it  from 
before  the  footlights.  [With  a  sigh],  I  feel  sometimes  as  though  I 
would  like  to  go  out  into  the  forest  of  Ardennes,  far  away  from  this 
incessant  toil,  and  study,  and  trouble.  An  artist  lives  a  life  of  drudgery 
and  slavery.  She  has  no  rest,  and  scarcely  time  to  eat  or  sleep.  My  path 
looks  as  if  it  were  strewn  with  roses,  but  it  is  rather  beset  with  thorns. 
This  is  my  daily  routine  :  In  the  morning  I  rise  between  eight  and  nine 


CRITICISMS    ON  ACTING   AND   READINGS.  261 

o'clock.  I  first  attend  to  my  business  letters,  and  I  study  for  an  hour,  if 
not  upon  a  part  that  I  have  in  hand,  upon  some  miscellaneous  subject. 
Then  I  walk  to  rehearsal,  which  lasts  from  two  to  four  hours.  This  is 
particularly  trying.  If  the  play  is  new  to  the  company,  then  I  have  to 
tell  them  all  about  t"he  '  business;'  and  if  it  is  not  new,  my  '  business  '  is 
different  from  that  of  the  star  that  has  preceded  me,  and  much  that  they 
do  has  to  be  changed  for  my  convenience.  It  is  very  hard  upon  members 
of  the  company  sometimes,  but  it  cannot  be  helped.  The  company  here 
is  one  of  the  best  in  the  country,  and  they  are  very  kind  and  good.  The 
rehearsal  over,  I  come  home  and  receive  callers  for  an  hour,  after  which 
I  dine  and  take  a  short  nap,  when  I  have  to  get  ready  for  the  evening 
performance.  This  is  the  mere  work  ;  but  there  is  the  care  and  annoy- 
ance besides.  When  I  am  about  to  play  a  new  character,  for  a  fortnight 
befere  the  opening  night  I  get  so  nervous  that  I  can  neither  eat  nor  sleep. 
I  generally  walk  to  and  from  the  theatre,  for  the  benefit  of  the  air  and 
exercise.  The  evening  performance  once  commenced,  if  I  am  acting  a 
part  whose  emotions- carry  me  away,  I  enter  fully  into  the  spirit  of  it,  and 
think  no  more  of  myself  until  the  curtain  falls  for  the  last  time.  I  get 
warm  and  excited,  and  take  cold  from  the  draughts.  The  wonder  is  that 
I  am  not  often  seriously  ill  instead  of  merely  getting  those  colds  from 
which  I  soon  recover.  The  play  finished,  I  come  home  in  a  state  of  ner- 
vous excitement  which  sometimes  continues  for  hours  and  prevents  my 
sleeping.  I  would  like  to  ride  or  drive  to  the  beach,  but  I  have  no  oppor- 
tunity. I  am  in  love  with  this  State,  but  I  have  no  chance  to  see  it.  I 
return  to  England,  and  people  say  :  '  Oh,  tell  us  about  California  ;  tell  us 
about  the  Geysers,  or  Yosemite,  or  the  Big  Trees,'  and  I  am  compelled  to 
tell  them  that  I  have  never  seeb  them.  And  this  kind  of  thing  continues 
for  a  long  season,  or  until  my  Summer  vacation  comes — an  incessant 
mental  and  physical  strain." 

The  character  is  intellectual,  self-contained,  stately,  powerful,  and  beau- 
tifully refined.  The  interpretation  was  dull,  fidgety,  undignified,  weak  and 
commonplace.  The  actor  at  first  appeared  ill  at  ease,  in  a  perturbation  of 
self -consciousness  and  timidity.  This  was  chiefly  manifest  in  his  gesticu- 
lation, which  was  copious  to  excess  and  mostly  inharmonious  with  the 
mental  excitement,  thought,  and  language  of  the  scene.  He  also  com- 
mitted frequent  textual  errors.  These  might  have  resulted  from  the  agi- 
tation incident  to  his  first  appearance  or  an  unfamiliar  stage.  He  had 
disqualifying  exacerbation  and  was  frequently  "  out "  of  the  character. 
External  blemishes  vanish,  if  only  of  a  work  of  art,  developing  naturally 
from  within,  which  is  animated  by  that  quick  spirit  which  gives  immortal 
life.  But  not  a  trace  of  that  spirit  appeared  in  his  performance.  He  never 
once  identified  himself  with  the  part.  He  was  simply  a  mechanical  player. 
fulfilling,  in  a  somewhat  flustered  way,  an  obvious  professional  duty,  and 
no  magical  atmosphere  of  emotion  hid  defects  of  portrayal,  or  lured 


26:2  ACTING  AND   ORATORY. 

attention  away  from  them.  It  was  easily  possible  to  follow  the  effort  with 
cool  and  quiet  observance.  It  was  unsympathetic.  He  did  not  animate, 
he  deadened.  It  was  not  perception  and  emotion,  but  the  technical  busi- 
ness of  the  play-book.  Movements  that  might  have  been  electrical  he 
made  leaden.  He  is  an  experienced  and  competent  stage  artificer.  He 
has  been  many  years  on  the  stage  and  understands  the  technicalities,  and 
since  the  larger  part  of  acting  is  mechanical,  he  will  always  prove  equal  to 
professional  emergencies,  like  that  large  class  of  useful  actors.  Aspiration 
is  not  always  ability. 

Critique. — It  was  a  good  piece,  well  set,  but  failed.  The  lady  who  took 
the  very  trying  part  of  the  heroine  was  so  deficient  in  force  and  stage 
practice  as  to  be  quite  unable  to  meet  expectation.  She  has  imagination, 
feeling,  delicacy,  ambition,  but  her  voice  was  inadequate.  Her  action 
lacks  breadth  and  decision  for  a  character  requiring  such  marked  individ- 
uality. It  was  a  great  risk.  Ambition  overleaped  itself.  Ill-judged  haste  ; 
not  yet  fitted.  She  needed  close  earnest  study.  Enthusiasm  is  not  enough. 
It  requires  more  knowledge  of  technique.  It  needs  personal  magnetism. 
Light  and  shade.  It  was  concert  pitch  to  the  end,  and  in  monotone.  Her 
ideas  were  hot  matured. 

Halls  and  Theatres. 

Novices,  in  large  buildings,  pitch  their  voices  nowhere  ; 
read  too  fast,  without  spacing ;  are  flurried  and  look  corpse- 
like.  It  is  no  easy  matter.  Till  habit  forms  a  second  nature, 
you  must  appear  to  yourself  to  exaggerate,  that  you  may  not 
seem  flat  and  feeble  to  your  audience.  Some  are  too  low,  or 
thin  and  airy,  or  monotonous,  or  very  uneven,  or  from  the 
throat.  Yet  audibility  can  be  effected  without  effort.  The 
voice  is  to  be  used  in  a  manner  wholly  new.  The  voice  must  be 
pitched  in  a  certain  key,  and  much  louder  ;  and  the  vowels  must 
be  dwelt  on.  If  natural,  you  seem  artificial,  and  you  must  be- 
come artificial  to  seem  natural. 

The  roof  of  the  rnouth  is  nature's  sounding-board,  and  the 
nostrils  are  like  the  holes  of  a  flute  to  be  spoken  through.  The 
nostrils  should  be  widened  and  used  effectively. 

Public  speaking  requires  so  much  breath  that  you  cannot 
afford  to  waste  any.  The  labor  is  so  great  you  cannot  afford 
to  tire  organs.  The  voice  that  is  required  is  so  full  and  strong, 
if  not  loud,  you  cannot  dispense  with  any  of  the  aids  of  intona- 
tion, articulation,  or  reverberation. 


HALLS  AND   THEATRES.  263 

The  lungs  should  be  inflated  to  a  far  greater  degree  than  is 
seemingly  necessary  for  the  purpose.  The  element  of  audibility 
is  the  pure,  well-sustained  vowel]  the  element  of  distinctness  is 
the  firm,  clearly  articulated  consonant. 

By  intonation,  inflection,  modulation,  and  poise  or  rhythm, 
the  skillful  reader  can  convey  to  the  mind  as  vivid  a  picture  as 
can  the  painter  to  the  eye.  The  great  rule  is  to  sound  the  words 
as  they  signify.  Theory  is  one  thing — practice  another. 

If  the  room  has  an  echo  lessen  the  voice  till  the  reverbera- 
tion is  not  perceptible,  but  you  cannot  expect  to  do  as  well  or 
be  energetic  ;  sometimes  more  distinct ;  slower  and  longer  pauses. 
If  the  place  be  too  large,  then  with  natural  compass,  and  be 
heard  by  as  many  as  possible  without  straining.  Submit  to 
the  necessity  and  do  the  best  possible  under  the  circumstances. 

The  speaking  voice  is  to  answer — fifty  to  two  hundred  feet 
— No  !  or  ask  How  ?  or  call  FLY  !  MARCH  !  or  HALT  !  If 
done  fairly  and  truly,  these  will  give  the  return  voice.  Breathe 
deeper,  open  the  mouth,  dwell  longer ;  all  enlarged  and  with 
meaning.  Moderate,  easy,  pleasant,  broad.  Ring  the  voice 
and  send  it  off.  Weigh  the  voice  and  determine  the  style. 
The  smaller  the  measure  of  breath  the  clearer  the  tone ;  the 
air  vibrates  better,  and  the  fatigue  is  less.  Assume  to  have  the 
usual  voice,  usual  manner  according  to  place.  Speak  naturally 
in  large  or  small  space. 

Every  auditorium  has  its  own  voice.  Powerful  voices  are 
not  always  managed  properly  as  to  pitch,  pace,  intensity.  In 
each  place  tune  the  voice  ;  try  to  adapt  by  looking  at  the  hall. 
Slow  time  or  fast,  high  or  low  pitch,  or  vary  intensity.  In  a 
spacious  hall  every  syllable  must  be  articulated  with  rigid  dis- 
tinctness and  a  swell  given  to  the  sound  ;  this  is  absolutely  in- 
dispensable, and  yet  how  few  so  speak  ;  and  if  for  a  long  time 
one  must  husband  resources  in  beginning ;  must  be  easy  and 
self-possessed.  If  at  first  too  strong,  exhaustion  ensues.  It 
should  be  to  express  what  all  feel  but  cannot  do.  Only  the 
leading  elements  should  be  touched  unerringly,  leaving  the  air 
to  soften,  unite  and  complete  the  rest.  All  trifling  and  petty 
points  and  useless  details  should  be  abandoned,  leaving  only  the 
great  features.  It  is  not  as  necessary  in  an  open  or  a  large 


•JG4  ACTING  A.VD  on  A  TO  in: 

space  to  raise  the  pitch  and  increase  the  force,  as  to  speak  dis- 
tinctly. More  speaking  and  less  bawling,  is  best  needed  at  all 
times.  Words  are  not  more  distinct  by  drawling  the  syllables, 
neither  is  pomp  or  solemnity  added  by  making  it  different  from 
private  speech.  This  is  the  vice  of  the  art.  Accent  the  same 
as  in  common  life,  and  not  labor  on  the  unaccented  syllables, 
giving  them  overweight  and  prominence  ;  at  least  one  must  not 
seem  to  do  so.  The  quantity  of  sound  actually  needed  is 
smaller  than  is  generally  imagined. 

Overheated  rooms  are  bad  for  the  voice,  as  heat  is  a  non- 
conductor of  sound  and  also  spoils  the  intonation  of  the  voice. 
Irregular  shaped  places  are  often  very  difficult  to  speak  in. 

Small  wires  stretched  across  a  room  at  proper  height  break 
the  sound-waves  and  prevent  unpleasant  echoes. 

The  Voice. — The  Muscles,  etc. 

In  the  larynx  there  are  eight  muscles  ;  in  the  tongue  and 
palate,  twenty ;  in  the  lips  and  mouth  ten,  besides  those  of  the 
thorax.  No  one  can  continue  in  a  strain  more  than  a  few  seconds 
without  a  slight  rest,  such  as  are  given'  by  pauses.  Even  the 
heart  rests  between  its  pulsations.  It  is  essential  to  provide 
against  fatigue  by  pauses  and  deliberation.  The  hearer  must  also 
have  momentary  relief.  This  comes  from  instinct  more  than 
from  art.  The  organs  should  not  suffer  violence  at  any  time. 
Strong  voices  are  not  often  heard  well  from  being  used  too  loudly. 
And  weak  voices  by  getting  out  of  breath  make  the  hearers  weary. 
The  voice  must  be  like  the  sound  of  the  German  flute,  pure,  neat, 
and  clear,  passing  freely  through  the  well-opened  mouth. 
When  the  voice  is  weak  it  can  be  gradually  strengthened.  If 
ever  overstrained  take  great  care  to  soften  down.  Long,  swell- 
ing, not  drawling,  sounds  are  a  good  exercise.  Loudness  is 
only  noise  ;  volume  is  full,  round,  mellow  ;  in  acquiring  it  be 
careful  not  to  diminish  the  excellence  of  tone,  either  as  to 
brilliancy,  richness,  or  sweetness,  or  to  endanger  any  property 
which  renders  it  agreeable  or  effective.  By  persevering  deter- 
mination voices  have  been  and  can  be  literally  made.  The  vol- 
ume and  strength  of  the  voice  depend  upon  the  manner  in  which 
the  breath  is  exhaled  rather  than  upon  the  quantity.  It  should 


COLDS   AND    CUBES.  265 

be  to  reserve  and  keep  the  voice  down  ;  to  produce  chaste,  mel- 
low notes.  If  practice  is  limited,  practice  well. 

The  voice  cannot  be  forced  without  straining  the  vocal  or- 
gans ;  and  if  continually  overstrained  they  will  be  weakened, 
till  useless.  Straining  affects  the  durability  of  ^he  voice  ;  even 
when  strong,  it  loses  in  grace  and  timbre.  The  voice  by  care 
can  be  retained  full  to  old  age.  But  worn-out  voices  can  be 
restored.  Never  practice  beyond  pure  tone,  not  too  great 
pressure. 

Deep  and  full  in  prolonged  sounds,  but  with  ease  and  light- 
ness to  preserve  roundness.  Never  make  extreme  sounds  Jiigli^ 
until  voice  is  well-developed,  and  then  progressively,  lightly  and 
firmly.  When  the  voice  is  equal  and  firm  in  middle  part  then 
gradually  extend  to  full  extent.  Many  a  fine  voice  is  ruined  by 
want  of  proper  guidance. 

Even  in  the  highest  electric  bursts  with  lurid  glare  and  con- 
vulsions of  passion,  one  should  never  strain  lungs.  Never  really 
gasp  for  breath.  In  most  violent  efforts  keep  in  reserve.  Per- 
verted passion  is  fearful,  but  excellent  in  place.  Conscious  self- 
possession,  volcanic-like  thunderbolt — create  at  once. 

Causes  of  loss  or  injury  of  the  voice  are  inflammation  of  the- 
mucous  membrane  of  pharynx  and  larynx,  and  tumors.  Bron- 
chitis and  laryngitis  come  from  speaking  in  the  throat. 

Colds  and  Cures. 

It  is  in  every  respect  desirable  to  meet  the  ordinary  emergen- 
cies of  the  weather  by  acquiring  sufficient  hardiness  of  body  to 
resist  them. 

The  best  way  to  avoid  catching  cold,  although  it  may  seem 
a  paradox,  is  not  to  be  too  much  afraid  of  cold.  Let  one's  ac- 
customed exercise  not  be  interrupted  because  it  is  damp,  or  even 
rains.  Let  these  conditions  be  met  by  appropriate  clothing,  and 
the  feet  be  well  protected  by  strong  shoes.  Furthermore,  if  out 
of  doors  and  the  body  feels  cold  from  the  wet,  keep  in  motion, 
for  the  sudden  loss  of  animal  heat  is  then  imminent. 

Evaporation,  although  produced  by  heat,  is  very  productive 
of  cold,  and  it  is  greatly  promoted  by  a  current  of  air.  The 
risk  of  catching  cold  is  greater  in  windy  weather. 


266  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

Retention  of  moisture  is  as  bad  as  that  received.  When  per- 
spiration is  profuse,  it  saturates  the  inner  clothing  and  its 
chilling  effects  are  soon  felt  if  the  body  is  at  rest.  The  best 
mode  of  avoiding  this  is  to  wear  clothes  of  loose  texture,  es- 
pecially in  hot  weather,  so  that  the  escape  of  perspiration  may 
be  promoted  as  much  as  possible.  Flannel  is  best  for  this  purpose. 

Cork  soles  are  valuable  preventives  for  the  bottom  of  the 
feet,  and  stout  leather  for  the  upper  parts.  "Woolen  stockings 
are  excellent,  being  non-conductors  of  heat  and  the  least  liable 
to  retain  perspiration. 

If  the  lungs  be  delicate  they  may  need  especial  protection, 
particularly  in  sudden  changes  of  temperature  ;  but  the  influence 
of  a  draught  in  giving  a  cold  is  often  exaggerated.  The  best 
preventives  are  daily  cold  baths  ;  and  open  air  exercise  in  all 
weathers,  to  develop  the  lungs.  The  best  cure  for  coughing  is 
to  stop  coughing  and  breathe  deeply. 

For  Colds  in  the  Lungs  and  Chest. — Kerosene  oil  or  vasaline  is  excellent, 
applied  on  a  flannel.  Rub  the  chest  and  throat  at  night  and  lay  on  a  piece 
of  flannel  with  another  light  cloth  over  that  to  prevent  contact  with  night 
clothes. 

Recent  Colds. — Equal  parts  linseed  oil,  honey  and  Jamaica  rum,  or  equal 
parts  decoction  of  boneset,  (thorowort)  and  molasses.  This  is  prepared  by 
first  steeping  the  boneset  and  straining,  then  adding  the  syrup  and  boiling 
down  to  original  consistency  of  the  syrup.  Take  several  teaspoonf  uls  every 
two  or  three  hours. 

Cough  Mixture. — Equal  parts  tinct.  blood-root,  syr.  ipecac  and  squills, 
balsam  of  tolu,  and  paregoric.  Half  of  tea-spoon  when  cough  is  severe; 
excellent.  Bathe  feet  in  warm  water,  and  rub  thoroughly,  at  night.  If 
cough  very  troublesome,  when  lying  down  at  night,  put  tea-spoonful  each 
of  tar  and  spirits  of  nitre  into  four  ounces  of  water,  shake  well ;  then  after 
standing,  and  without  shaking,  sip  from  vial  about  a  tea-spoonful,  which 
will  allay  the  tickling  sensation.  To  taste  salt  is  excellent. 

Colds — (Deep-seated.)  Remedial. — 34  ounce  each,  ext.  of  hyoscyamua, 
balm  of  Gilead  buds,  pulv.  ipecac,  or  lobelia,  and  balsam  of  fir  ;  a  few 
drops  oil  of  anise  to  form  into  balls  the  size  of  a  pea.  One  or  two  3  or  4 
times  daily. 

This  allays  the  irritation  of  the  mucous  membrane,  the  bronchial  tubes, 
and  the  lungs,  and  is  exceedingly  valuable. 

Laryngitis. — It  is  best  at  first  to  take  some  alterative  like  the  following: 
Coinp.  tinct.  Peruvian  bark,  6  oa.  fluid  ex.  sarsparilla,  1  Ib.  ext.  conium, 
%  ovs.  Iodide  of  potash,  %  oz.  Iodine,  %  dr. 


REMEDIES  FOR    COLDS.  267 

Dissolve  the  ex.  conium  and  the  powders  in  a  little  of  the  fluid,  and  mix 
all.  Two  teaspoons  before  each  meal.  Next  use  this 

Gargle. — Very  strong  decoction  of  sage  %  pt  ;  2  table-spoons  each, 
honey,  common  salt,  and  vinegar  ;  1  tea-spoon  cayenne ;  steep,  strain,  then 
bottle  and  use  according  to  condition.  One  of  the  best  of  gargles.  Besides 
these  use  the  following  on  throat  and  chest : 

Liniment. — 2  ozs.  gum-camphor.  1  dr.  Castile  soap.  1  table-spoon  oil 
of  turpentine.  %  oz.  oil  of  origanum.  %  oz.  opium.  1  pt.  alcohol.  Put 
by  for  upwards  of  a  week  or  more,  then  bathe  2  or  3  times  daily. 

AnotJier  Remedy. — Wear  little  clothing  round  the  neck,  and  smoke 
dried  mullen  leaves  in  a  clean  clay  pipe  ;  is  wonderfully  curative.  It  is 
like  an  anodyne  and  increases  expectoration,  removing  the  mucus  which 
gathers  in  the  larynx,  and  if  followed  will  effect  a  permanent  cure.  It  is 
good  for  coughs. 

Catarrh  Snuff.— \  oz.  Scotch  snuff,  1  tea-spoon  dry  chloride  lime,  bot- 
tle and  cork  tightly.  This  assists  the  secretions  and  prevents  the  fetor. 

Enlarged  Tonsils.— Enlargement  of  the  tonsils,  and  atony  or  relaxation 
of  the  vocal  chords,  is  caused  at  times,  by  over-exertion,  violent  emotions, 
alcohol  and  such  means.  Even  disturbance  of  digestion,  or  too  great  or  too 
little  secretion  of  the  glands  ;  or  the  throat  by  being  too  dry  or  too  moist, 
from  various  causes  affects  the  voice. 

Curative. — For  overstraining  chew  a  crust  of  bread  to  pulp,  slowly, 
and  drink  a  little  tepid  water. 

Preventative. — Proper  breathing  will  prevent  straining.  Pause  be- 
tween inspiration  and  expiration.  Teach  children  to  do  it  slowly,  regu- 
larly, and  effectually,  carefully,  watch  and  guide  them,  and  encourage  them, 
not  leave  them  to  themselves. 

An  Excellent  Gargle. — Powdered  alum,  1  dr. 

Decoction  of  barley,  filtered 10  oz. 

Syrup  of  white  poppies. . .   %  oz. 

3  or  4  times  daily. — (Gradually  increase  alum  in  quantity.) 

Outside. — Ex.  Belladona,       12  gr. 
Sp'ts  of  Camphor    4  oz. 

Remedial. — 1  oz.  No.  6,  2  oz.  molasses,  4  oz.  hot  water.  Carefully  taste 
and  swallow  a  little  from  time  to  time.  It  increases  the  saliva  and  thus 
relieves.  If  inflammation  of  the  throat  besides,  then  add  the  following 
remedy. 

ThroatWash. — 10  grs.  nitrate  silver,  1  oz.  water,  3  or  4  drops  creosote ; 
then  with  a  small  throat  sponge  apply  it  to  the  parts,  laying  a  flannel  with 
turpentine  externally,  and  perhaps  putting  the  feet  into  hot  water  and 
rubbing  dry. 

Constipation,  Remedial. — 1  table-spoon  of  Indian  meal  in  a  glass  of  cold 
water  before  breakfast  will  cure  if  continued  for  a  time,  or  a  fresh  egg  in 


2GS  ACTING  AND   ORATORY. 

a  gill  of  water  before  each  meal  will  do  wonders  even  in  obstinate  cases. 
Exercise  in  the  open  air. 

Sick  Head  Ache. — Put  the  feet  in  hot  water,  drink  freely  of  some  kind 
of  mint  tea,  before  going  to  bed  and  perspire  for  about  an  hour.  If  from 
full  stomach  an  emetic  of  mustard  and  salt  in  warm  water  is  beneficial. 
An  excellent  quick  cure  is  to  take  two  tea-spoons  of  finely  powdered  char- 
coal in  half  a  tumbler  of  water. 

Night  Air. — There  is  a  popular  prejudice  concerning  the  evil  effects 
of  night  air.  It  was  formerly  the  belief  that  it  was  very  injurious.  But 
the  fact  is,  that  generally  it  is  as  healthful  as  that  of  the  day. 

Nothing  conduces  more  to  healthy  sleep  than  good  ventilation.  Even 
the  dampness  of  a  bed  is  not  so  much  to  be  feared  if  the  person  is  made 
warm  by  plenty  of  clothing. 

Health,  Food,  Toilet;  for  the  Stage,  etc. 

Beef-Jelly. — Table-spoonful  to  cup  of  boiling  water,  for  singers,  and 
public  speakers.  Singers  and  actors  must  eat  well. 

Thin  people  should  eat  vegetables,  and  oily  food — almonds. 

Fat  people  should  eat  acid  fruits ;  lemons,  limes,  tamarinds,  crackers, 
not  bread,  milk,  butter,  beer,  sugar,  potatoes,  but,  beef,  mutton,  fish,  toast, 
not  fat  fish,  nor  sweet  vegetables,  green  vegetables  excellent,  poultry, 
game,  fruit. 

For  Debility. — Powdered  French  charcoal  (large  bottle).  Teaspoonful 
in  water,  or  honey,  three  nights,  then  a  simple  aperient,  afterwards  tonics. 
A  free  use  of  figs  and  tomatoes,  coarse  bread,  vegetables. 

For  the  Liver. — Taraxacum,  ex.  dandelion  (pill)  four  nights  a  week  for 
months  (recommended). 

Spring  Medicine. — One-half  ounce  spruce,  hemlock,  sarsaparilla,  dan- 
delion, burdock,  and  yel.  dock,  one  gal.  water  ;  boil  one-half  hour,  strain 
hot,  ten  drops  of  spruce  and  sassafras  mixed,  cool  ;  one-half  pound  sugar, 
one-half  cup  yeast  in  jars  twelve  hours,  covered  tight ;  bottle. 

Acid  Stomach — Sweeten  Breath. — One-fourth  spoonful  ammonia  in  one- 
half  glass  of  water  night  and  morning.  Gargle. —  three  dr.  powdered 
chlorate  of  lime,  two  oz.  water,  two  oz.  alcohol,  four  drops  volatile  oil  of 
roses,  four  drops  perfumers'  essential  oil ;  (brush  teeth),  and  rinse  mouth 
several  times  per  day.  Lozenges  for  Breath. — seven  drs.  chlor.  lime,  three 
drs.  vanilla  sugar,  five  drs.  gum  arable,  warm  water,  stiff  paste,  cut,  etc. 

Face  Paste. — Four  whites  of  eggs,  one-half  oz.  alum  and  almond  oil. 

To  clear  Complexion. — Carbonate  of  ammonia.  Face. — Juice  of  stems  of 
lettuce  at  night ;  in  morning  solution  of  ammonia  ;  on  body  to  remove  odor. 
Teeth. — Ashes  of  burnt  bread.  Chew  orris  root. 


HEALTH,    FOOD,    TOILET.  269 

Irritations  of  Skin — (Mosquitoes).  Carbolic  acid,  fifty  drops,  and  glyce- 
rine. Hands. — Soap  and  sand  ;  then  bran  ;  then  cold  cream. 

Cosmetic  Gloves. — Two  yolks  of  eggs,  two  spoonsful  oil  almonds,  one  oz. 
rose-water,  thirty-six  drops  benzine  ;  or  mittens  with  bran  or  oatmeal. 

Wrinkles. — Tar  and  almond  oils,  thin,  at  night — old  cloths  on  pillow. 

For  weak  Lungs. — Oil  of  tar  in  water  jar  on  stove. 

Hairs  on  Face. — Paste  of  wood-ashes,  vinegar  to  wash  off,  then  oil  to 
soften  the  skin. 

Pure,  clear  Skin. — Vapor  bath,  or  alcohol  bath,  twice  a  week,  with 
blankets,  etc.,  fifteen  minutes,  tepid  bath,  rub  dry,  and  body  in  glow,  or 
instead,  tepid  bran  bath,  friction  till  skin  shines  (Oatmeal). 

Neuralgia. — Sulphur  bath,  liable  to  take  cold,  but  splendid  for  the 
skin.  Towels,  wet,  must  be  placed  on  the  head,  or  dangerous. 

Women's  looks  depend  mainly  on  their  nerves  and  peace  of  mind. 

Suppleness.— Almond  oil  rose  scent,  rub  joints  daily,  till  no  gloss. 

The  back  relieved  by  oatmeal  bath.  Opera  dancers  use  eight  oz.  deer 
fat,  six  oz.  oil,  three  oz.  wax,  four  oz.  rose  water  ;  melt  and  put  in  one-half 
pt.  brandy  and  one  gr.  ambergris.  Gyrations  of  body  and  limbs. 

Cool  in  summer. — Bathe  night  and  morning  (salt).     Tart  drinks. 

Hair  falling  out.—Cold.  water  every  day.  Burdock  root  tea — ammonia, 
one-half  oz.  oil  of  mace,  one  pt.  alcohol,  brush  smartly  ammonia  wash. 

To  Dye  Hair. — Use  potato- water  cold.    For  Chilblains — use  it  hot. 

Hair  Dressing. — Four  oz.  wax,  nine  oz.  olive  oil,  two  oz.  burnt  cork, 
melt  in  cup  placed  in  bowl  of  hot  water. 

Young  Persons. — Sponge  bath  every  day,  if  heated  from  walk  or  play. 
Knees,  elbows,  feet  in  cold  water  to  prevent  nervousness  after  it. 

Simple,  well-flavored  diet,  plenty  of  acid  fruit  to  counteract  bilious- 
ness, nuts  and  raisins  better  than  candy.  Under  eighteen  not  over  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour,  at  practice  or  study,  then  ten  minutes,  out  of  doors  or 
exercise,  head  clearer,  limbs  fresher.  Cool  sitz  baths,  for  hips,  etc. 
Skipping  rope,  battledoor,  swinging  by  the  hands  from  a  rope;  ball, 
bean-bags,  or  pillow-fights,  singing  scales,  half  an  hour. 

C/iildren  must  make  a  great  deal  of  noise  in  order  to  be  healthy. 
The  shouts  and  turmoil  ventilate  their  bodies  and  send  the  breath  full 
into  their  lungs.  Instead  of  quelling  their  riot  it  would  be  better  for  older 
folks  to  join  them. 

Men  and  women  go  mad  after  the  natural  stimulus  which  air  and  ex- 
ercise supply.  It  is  the  lack  of  this  which  flings  them  into  dissipation. 
Studious,  repressed  lives  often  long  for  a  fierce  brief  madness  to  relieve 
the  incubus  upon  them.  They  can  dance  or  yell  till  they  are  tired.  The 
nervous  woman  must  throw  quoits,  or  wrestle  or  sing,  or  run  or  jump,  to 
furnish  an  outlet  to  her  feelings.  Sunshine,  music,  work. 


270  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

Health  in  Breath. 

The  importance  of  breathing  plentifully  of  fresh  air  as  an 
essential  of  health  is  generally  admitted.  Weil-ventilated 
rooms,  open-air  exercise,  are  appreciated  to  some  extent  by  all. 
But  the  art  of  breathing  is  very  much  overlooked.  Properly 
trained  singers  are  taught  to  attend  very  carefully  to  their 
breathing. 

When  the  body  is  at  rest,  especially  when  the  mind  is  ab- 
sorbed in  thought,  the  breathing  naturally  becomes  diminished. 
Even  in  taking  a  constitutional  walk  the  full  benefit  is  not  at- 
tained for  want  of  thorough  breathing. 

There  is  room  for  what  might  be  fitly  termed  breath-gym- 
nastics— to  draw  in  long  and  full  breaths,  filling  the  lungs  full 
at  every  inspiration,  and  emptying  them  as  completely  as  pos- 
sible at  every  expiration,  and  to  acquire  the  habit  of  full  breath- 
ing at  all  times.  It  has  the  effect  of  expanding  the  chest,  and 
BO  contributing  to  the  vigor  of  the  system. 

Profound  thought,  intense  grief,  and  other  similar  mental 
manifestations,  have  a  depressing  effect  on  respiration.  The 
blood  unduly  accumulates  in  the  brain,  and  the  circulation  in 
both  heart  and  lungs  becomes  diminished.  Brisk  muscular  ex- 
ercise in  the  open  air,  even  during  inclement  weather,  is  an 
excellent  antidote  for  sorrow. 

Persons  with  full,  broad,  deep  chests  naturally  breathe 
freely  and  slowly,  and  large  nostrils  generally  accompany  large 
chests.  Such  persons  rarely  take  cold,  and  when  they  do  they 
throw  it  off  easily.  The  opposite  build  of  chest  is  more  predis- 
posed to  lung  disease.  The  pallid  complexion  and  conspicuous 
blue  veins  show  that  oxygen  is  wanted,  and  that  every  means 
should  be  used  to  obtain  it.  Deep  breathing  also  promotes 
perspiration,  by  increasing  the  circulation  and  the  animal 
warmth.  Waste  is  more  rapidly  repaired,  and  the  skin  is  put 
in  requisition  to  remove  the  used  materials.  Many  forms  of  dis- 
ease may  be  thus  prevented,  and  more  vigorous  health  enjoyed. 

Sleeplessness. 

Any  exertion  of  the  brain,  such  as  deep  thought,  increases 
the  flow  of  blood  to  the  brain,  and  so  loug  as  such  flow  continues 


SLEEPLESSNESS — SOMNAMB  ULISM.  271 

this  organ  is  excited,  and  the  body  gets  no  sleep  or  rest.  Any- 
thing tending  to  promote  circulation  of  blood  in  the  brain,  such 
as  worry  or  anxiety,  means  sleeplessness,  while  on  the  other 
hand,  any  cause  that  tends  to  diminish  this  flow  of  blood  in- 
duces sleep.  The  best  promoters  of  sleep  are  warmth,  dark- 
ness, and  monotony  of  sound  ;  for  in  all  these  there  is  an 
absence  of  excitement.  The  more  a  man  exercises  his  brain 
the  greater  necessity  there  is  for  rest  to  recoup  himself,  and  re- 
store brain  substance.  Eight  hours  average.  Sufficient  exercise 
should  be  taken,  and  those  strong  enough  should  become  tired. 

Slow  movements  are  of  a  soothing  tendency  ;  they  quiet  the 
excited  nerves,  and  prepare  the  way  for  complete  repose. 

Nothing  is  more  important  than  to  diminish  intensity  of 
thought.  Under  favorable  circumstances  this  can  be  effected 
by  the  will. 

Somnambulism. 

The  sleeper,  in  his  first,  therefore  deepest  sleep,  rises  softly 
from  his  bed,  performs  various,  often  complex  acts,  avoids  or 
overcomes  obstacles,  which  he  meets  with  in  so  doing,  even  ex- 
ecutes things  which  he  is  unable  to  execute  when  awake,  enters 
into  conversation  with  others,  and  after  a  while  returns  to  bed 
with  entire  composure.  And  when  awake  recollects  nothing. 
The  eyes  of  some  somnambulists  are  closed,  of  others  open,  but 
fixed,  and  apparently  without  susceptibility.  A  candle  may  be 
held  so  close  as  to  burn  the  eyelashes,  without  the  slightest  in- 
dication of  sensation,  and  even  the  enlarged  pupil  is  not  there- 
by contracted. 

The  sense  of  hearing  is  so  closed  that  the  report  of  fire-arms 
does  not  awaken  the  sleeper ;  to  the  call  of  his  name  alone  is  he 
extremely  sensible.  Speech  is  the  more  distinct,  the  higher  the 
degree  of  the  condition.  Kespiration  is  slow.  The  pulse  is  low, 
sometimes  quick.  The  temperature  is  decreased  ;  muscular 
action  vigorous,  and  often  firmer.  It  is  a  more  intense  sleep. 
The  sensibility  is  more  delicate  as  impressions  are  received 
through  the  whole  surface  of  the  organism.  It  is  a  lower  state 
however,  in  which  the  mind  acts  from  a  physical  fancy  ;  a 
state  on  the  level  of  the  sleep  of  birds  standing  on  their  legs. 


27'-2  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

The  disposition  to  somnambulism  depends  on  a  delicate  nerv- 
ous system,  and  on  a  predominance  of  the  direction  of  the  fancy 
over  the  intelligence.  These  qualities  belong  more  properly  to 
the  female  sex. 

Smoking  and  the  Voice. 

Cigarette  smoking  is  much  more  injurious  than  cigar  smok- 
ing, because  the  smoke  is  generally  inhaled,  and  often  ejected 
through  the  nose.  It  has  a  particularly  harmful  local  effect 
on  the  mucous  membrane  of  the  nasal  passage.  People  who 
use  cigarettes  are  more  liable  than  others  to  be  afflicted  with 
local  irritations  that  produce  catarrh.  In  persons  of  nerv- 
ous temperaments  cigarette  smoking  always  produces  constitu- 
tional effects.  The  pulse  is  increased  in  frequency,  becomes 
smaller  than  is  natural,  and  is  irregular.  Such  persons  are  said 
to  have  a  "  tobacco  pulse  "  and  a  "  tobacco  heart."  The  action 
of  the  pulse  in  this  respect  is  not  to  be  mistaken.  Persons, 
who  constantly  smoke  cigarettes,  are  easily  excited,  and  have 
.a  tendency  to  vertigo,  and  dimness  of  vision,  besides  being 
troubled  by  dyspepsia.  Bronchial  and  throat  diseases  are  much 
more  readily  caused  by  cigarette  smoking  than  by  cigar  smoking, 
and  a  large  increase  in  diseases  of  the  air  passages,  due  alone  to 
this  habit,  has  been  observed.  There  is  not  one-fiftieth  as  much 
of  the  mucous  surface  covered  by  cigar  smoke  as  by  the  inhaled 
smoke  of  a  cigarette.  Excessive  indulgence  in  any  form  of 
tobacco  smoking  may  produce  general  paralysis,  while  by  en- 
feebling the  circulation,  lowering  the  vitality  of  the  system,  and 
interfering  with  assimilation  of  food,  tends  to  produce  anemia, 
which  is  one  of  the  first  steps  toward  softening  of  the  brain. 
Vertigo,  when  resulting  from  smoking  strong  cigars,  or  from 
the  inhaling  of  cigarette  smoke,  is  due  to  anaemia,  or  in  other 
words,  to  a  diminished  supply  of  blood  to  the  brain. 

By  some  it  is  claimed  that  the  paper  Avrapping  of  cigarettes 
is  as  hurtful  as  the  tobacco.  This  claim  is  grounded  upon  the 
belief  that  the  products  of  the  imperfect  combustion  of  the 
paper  or  other  vegetable  fibre  are  pyrogallic  and  pyroligneous 
acids,  which  make  their  presence  unpleasantly  felt  in  the  mu- 
cous membrane. 


LUNACY.  273 

The  Maniac. 

Hallucinations  of  sight  are  shown  in  the  look,  attitude, 
language,  gesticulation,  step,  and  often  in  a  violent,  uncon- 
trollable motion  of  the  muscles.  His  gait  is  frequent,  dis- 
tinguished by  a  constant  and  rapid  pacing  to  and  fro  in  a 
given  space.  He  dreams  while  he  wakes,  but  he  acts  in  his 
dreams.  When  he  appears  angry  his  swelled  face  is  flushed,  his 
watery  eyes,  often  much  inflamed,  roll  wildly,  his  mouth  foams, 
and  with  screams  and  ravings  he  destroys  all  that  comes  within 
his  reach.  Sometimes  he  suddenly  bursts  forth  without  warn- 
ing into  violent  paroxysms,  and  these  may  continue  for  weeks 
together,  night  as  well  as  day,  finally  to  succumb  to  exhaustion. 

Lunacy. 

In  the  delirious  ravings  of  intoxication,  or  fever,  or  in  the 
conversation  and  actions  of  lunatics,  we  have  the  same  evi- 
•dence  of  mental  operation  as  in  the  same  persons  when  sane. 

Sensational  consciousness,  is  excited  through  physiological 
instrumentality.  The  impression  is  analogous  to  a  similar 
image  upon  a  photographic  surface.  Its  transmission  tele- 
graphic. 

Each  kind  of  mental  activity — sensational,  instinctive,  emo- 
tional, ideational,  and  volitional — may  expi-ess  itself  in  bodily 
movement,  each  being  called  forth  by  a  certain  part  of  the 
brain,  which  excites  corresponding  motor  nerves  whereby  par- 
ticular muscles  are  called  into  action. 

We  have  three  distinct  modes  of  action, — automatic,  or  the 
•unconscious ;  voluntary,  or  conscious,  permitted  or  guided ; 
volitional,  or  willed  to  repetition. 

The  will  can  reproduce  effects  once  acquired,  by  calling 
upon  the  automatic  apparatus  for  the  particular  combination  of 
movements  which  it  has  grown  into  the  power  of  executing  in 
respondence  to  each  preconception,  unless  enervated  by  disuse 
or  stiffened  by  other  training.  Even  the  strongest  will  may 
fail  to  have  complete  control  over  the  complex  automatic 
mechanism,  however  perfect  the  mental  conception,  until  the 
organ  is  trained  to  execute  that  conception. 


274  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

Let  a  person  will  to  look  directly  at  some  point  or  at  his 
own  eyes  in  a  mirror  and  then  will  to  move  his  head  from  side 
to  side  or  up  or  down  and  his  eyes  will  roll  contrariwise  in  their 
sockets. 

The  same  will  be  true  of  the  voluntary  movements  to  make 
the  automatic  powers  grow  to  the  habitual  exercise.  If  an  ac- 
complished musician  desires  to  play  upon  an  instrument  he  has 
never  practiced,  but  which  he  understands,  it  would  be  suffi- 
cient for  him  to  will  the  movements  he  knows  to  be  requisite  to 
produce  the  desired  results,  instead  of  having  to  acquire  the 
power  by  a  laborious  course  of  training. 

Every  one  can  perfect  his  natural  gifts,  by  vigorously  train- 
ing them,  and  exercising  them  in  the  manner  most  fitting  to 
expand  and  elevate,  while  restraining  them  from  all  that  would 
limit  or  debase  them. 

One  can  determine  what  shall  not  be  regarded  by  the  mind, 
by  keeping  the  attention  fixed  in  other  directions.  This  exer- 
cise will  form  the  character  by  establishing  a  set  of  acquired 
habitudes. 

The  will  can  also  improve  itself  by  discipline  ;  repressing  if 
too  strong,  fostering  and  developing  where  feeble,  to  healthful 
energy.  Thus  will  acquires  domination  over  the  automatic 
powers,  and  ideas  and  emotions  show  the  influence  of  habitual 
control.  We  are  not  mere  automata  without  will,  mere  crea- 
tures of  impulse. 

Animal  life  differs  from  the  plant  by  reason  of  its  nervous 
system,  the  organs  of  sense,  and  the  organs  of  motion.  It  is  in 
virtue  of  the  contractility  of  the  muscles,  that  all  the  sensible 
movements  are  made. 

The  active  powers  of  the  nervous  system  are  concentrated  in 
the  ganglia,  while  the  trunks  serve  as  conductors  of  the  influence 
which  is  to  be  propagated  towards,  or  from  them.  If  either  be  de- 
stroyed paralysis  ensues  as  regards  either  motion  or  sensation. 

A  hearty  laugh  sometimes  removes  lighter  excitement,  and 
depressing  emotions  are  often  worked  off  by  a  bit  of  crying, 
which  relieves  the  pent-up  nerve  force.  Those  who  die  of  grief 
are  not  those  who  are  loud  in  their  lamentations. 

Every  one  knows  the  assistance  that  comes  from  encourage' 


LUNACY.  075 

ment  when  one  is  doubtful  of  one's  powers,  and  of  the  detri- 
mental influence  of  discouragement  when  one  is  previously  con- 
fident of  success. 

The  fear  of  danger  may  nerve  one  man  to  dare  to  avert  it, 
while  another  is  rendered  powerless. 

Ardent  anticipation  of  success  may  also  unsettle  the  deter- 
minative energy  of  one  while  another  may  be  sustained  by  it  in 
the  struggle.  There  should  not  be  merely  a  distinct  conception 
of  one's  purpose,  but  also  a  belief  that  it  will  be  accomplished 
and  all  should  be  concentrated  in  that  direction.  It  is  mainly 
conviction  of  success  that  brings  it.  The  tendency  of  cheer- 
ful or  joyous  emotions  in  favorable  anticipation  increases  voli- 
tional effort  while  those  of  a  depressing  character  decrease  it. 
The  former  influence  the  physical  powers  through  the  aeration 
of  the  blood  through  the  lungs  and  heart ;  the  heart's  impulses 
being  more  rigorous  and  regular.  The  more  completely  the 
mental  energy  can  be  brought  into  one  focus  and  all  distracting 
objects  excluded,  the  more  powerful  the  volitional  effort.  The 
rnind  which  is  deficient  in  concentrative  is  deranged  by  emo- 
tional excitement  in  volitional  effort. 

A  man  suffering  some  great  loss  needs  complete  distraction 
of  his  attention  before  he  can  rouse  himself  to  new  effort.  It  is 
not  to  repress  ;  it  is  to  change  the  direction.  Not  to  think  of 
the  subject,  but  to  think  of  something  else. 

An  idea  in  the  brain  is  an  impression  made  on  a  living 
tissue,  which  is  the  seat  of  active  nutritive  processes.  It  devel- 
ops when  least  conscious,  in  a  thinker's  mind. 

A  creating  and  informing  spirit,  which  is  with  us,  not  of  us, 
is  the  muse  of  the  poet,  the  inspiration  of  the  actor,  the  guide 
of  the  artist.  It  comes  to  the  least  as  a  voice  that  will  be 
heard  ;  it  gives  light  to  the  dullest ;  we  wonder  at  it  that  our 
naked  thought  can  be  so  invested  with  the  purple  of  kings  of 
speech.  It  not  only  affects  the  mind  but  the  emotions. 

And  though  reason  may  pierce  the  clouds,  yet  the  concep- 
tions of  childhood  will  remain  latent  to  reappear  in  every  hour 
of  weakness. 


276  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

Insanity. 

Abstraction. — The  preliminary  state  is  a  fixed  gaze  upon 
some  unexciting  thing.  It  then  tends  to  become  more  and 
more  abstract ;  to  unity,  then  nullity.  A  mere  statue  of  atten- 
tion, a  perfectly  undistracted  faculty.  Any  sensation  that  ap- 
peals is  met  by  this  brilliant,  diamond-like  glare.  External 
influences  are  sensated,  sympathized  with,  to  an  extraordinary 
degree  ;  music  sways  the  body  into  graces  the  most  affect- 
ing ;  discords  jar  it,  as  though  they  would  tear  it  limb  from 
limb.  The  whole  man  is  given  to  each  perception.  The  body 
trembles  like  down  with  the  atmosphere  ;  the  world  plays  upon 
it  as  if  it  were  a  spiritual  instrument  finely  attuned. 

With  women  it  is  but  a  step  from  extreme  nervous  suscep- 
tibility to  downright  hysteria,  and  thence  to  insanity. 

In  Lady  Macbeth  the  mental  condition,  though  not  strictly 
insanity,  is  of  a  pathological  character, — a  mental  disquietude 
that  undermines  her  weaker  constitution  and  eventually  occa- 
sions her  death.  The  ideas  are  stamped  upon  her  brain  as  with 
a  hot  iron.  Within  the  whole  round  of  human  wretchedness, 
there  is  not  a  case  more  deplorable  ;  moral  depravity  for  crime 
and  lack  of  nervous  hardihood  to  sustain  the  mental  shock. 

Applause. — The  excellence  of  a  performance  is  supposed 
to  depend  entirely  upon  the  manager,  the  author,  and  the 
actors. 

The  audience  has  quite  as  much  to  do  with  it. 

Generous  but  judicious  applause  is  the  breath  of  life  which 
inspires  manager,  author  and  actors  alike. 

In  France  applause  is  considered  indispensable  to  a  good 
performance. 

Hence  the  claque,  which  is  merely  a  party  of  men  hired  to 
applaud  at  the  right  time. 

The  question  of  applause  is  not  a  question  of  the  vanity  of 
actors ;  while  a  good  actor  utterly  ignores  his  audience,  he  is 
simultaneously  most  dependent  upon  its  coldness  or  its  kind- 
ness. Applause  comes  to  the  actor  like  the  spur  to  the  spirited 
Bteed  ;  it  exhilarates  him.  It  enables  him  to  outdo  himself. 


SIMPLICITY.  277 

When  an  actor  is  applauded  for  his  mechanical  skill  it  is 
merely  from  astonishment,  not  pleasure. 

Applause  should  be  received  as  an  incentive,  not  as  a  reward. 
Applause  in  wrong  places,  and  at  palpable  faults,  is  the  destruc- 
tion of  many  actors. 

Achievement  grows  upon  appreciation,  and  the  audience 
which  applauds  most  always  sees  the  best  acting. 

This  is  no  trouble  to  an  audience.  It  commits  them  to  no 
judgment  upon  the  actor's  performance;  but  the  effect  upon' 
him  is  magical.  He  feels  at  ease,  and  he  will  play  the  better 
for  it. 

During  the  performance  an  actor  who  gets  no  applause  is 
like  an  artist  painting  in  the  dark.  The  only  way  to  let  him 
know  he  is  right  is  to  applaud  him. 

The  value  of  applause,  then,  to  an  actor  is  incalculable  ;  but 
its  value  to  an  audience  is  as  great.  The  one  reacts  upon  the 
other. 

Sit  through  a  play  without  applauding  any  thing  ;  then  take 
the  same  piece  and  applaud  everything  that  strikes  you  as  good 
in  the  dialogue,  acting  or  scenery.  Compare  your  own  enjoy- 
ment during  the  two  evenings,  and  you  will  be  astonished  to 
learn  the  VALUE  of  APPLAUSE. 

Simplicity. — "  The  only  true  way  to  shine,  even  in  this 
false  world,  is  to  be  modest  and  unassuming.  Falsehood  may 
be  a  very  thick  crust,  but  in  the  course  of  time  truth  will  find 
a  place  to  break  through.  Elegance  of  language  may  not  be  in 
the  power  of  all  of  us.  but  simplicity  and  straightforward- 
ness are. 

"  Write  much  as  you  would  speak  ;  speak  as  you  think.  If 
with  your  inferior,  speak  no  coarser  than  usual ;  if  with  your 
superior,  speak  no  finer.  Be  what  you  say,  and  within  the 
rules  of  prudence.  No  one  ever  was  a  gainer  by  singularity  of 
words  or  in  pronunciation.  The  truly  wise  man  will  so  speak 
that  no  one  will  observe  how  he  speaks. 

"  Sidney  Smith  once  remarked  :  '  After  you  have  written  an 
article,  take  your  pen  and  strike  out  half  of  the  words,  and  you 
will  be  surprised  to  see  how  much  stronger  it  is.' " 


278  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

Amusement. — Man  is  only  entirely  a  man  ivlien  lie  plays. 
The  most  frivolous  or  most  serious  subject  must  be  immedi- 
ately allowed  to  leave  the  mind  one  for  the  other. 

Many-sided  is  the  highest ;  serious,  lesser  ;  blend  with  sport  - 
iveness.  The  lion  labors  when  hunger  is  the  incitement  to  his 
activity,  and  plays  when  profusion  of  vigor  calls  for  it. 

What  a  capital,  glorious  good  thing  is  a  laugh  !  What  a 
tonic !  Better  than  a  walk  before  breakfast  or  a  nap  after 
dinner.  In  all  its  phases  and  on  all  faces,  contorting,  relaxing, 
overwhelming,  convulsing,  throwing  the  human  form  in  happy 
quaking  and  shaking  of  idiocy,  and  turning  the  human  coun- 
tenance into  something  approaching  to  Billy  Button's  transfor- 
mation, under  every  circumstance,  and  everywhere,  a  laugh  is  a 
glorious  thing. 

A  Piano  Duel — Liszt  and  Chopin. 

One  evening  in  the  month  of  May,  between  eleven  and  twelve 
o'clock,  the  company  was  assembled  in  the  great  drawing-room 
of  the  Chateau  at  Nohant.  The  large  windows  were  open,  the 
moon  was  full,  the  nightingales  sang,  the  perfumes  of  roses 
and  mignonette  penetrated  the  room.  Liszt  played  a  nocturne 
of  Chopin,  and,  according  to  his  habit,  embroidered  it  a  la 
Liszt  with  trills,  tremolos  and  organ-stops.  Several  times 
Chopin  betrayed  signs  of  impatience,  when  finally,  no  longer 
able  to  control  his  wrath,  he  approached  the  piano  and  said  to 
Liszt,  with  his  English  phlegm  : 

"  I  pray,  my  dear  sir,  if  you  do  me  the  honor  to  play  one 
of  my  pieces,  play  it  as  it  is  written  or  play  something  else. 
Nobody  but  Chopin  has  the  right  to  change  Chopin." 

"  Very  well ;  play  yourself,"  replied  Liszt,  piqued,  rising 
from  the  stool.  •'•'  Most  willingly,"  said  Chopin. 

At  this  moment  the  lamp  was  extinguished  by  a  moth  flut- 
tering into  the  flame.  As  some  one  was  about  to  relight  it, 
Chopin  cried,  "  No  !  on  the  contrary,  put  out  all  the  lights — 
the  moon  gives  me  light  enough." 

Then  he  played — played  for  a  whole  hour.  To  relate  how 
would  be  impossible.  There  are  emotions  one  experiences  which 
cannot  be  described.  The  nightingales  ceased  their  singing  to 


A   PIANO   DUEL — LISZT  AND    CHOPIN.  279 

listen  ;  the  flowers  drank  as  a  divine  dew  those  celestial  sounds 
from  Heaven  ;  the  audience,  in  mute  ecstasy,  hardly  dared  to 
breathe,  and,  when  the  enchanter  finished,  all  eyes  were  bathed 
in  tears,  and  above  all,  those  of  Liszt.  He  hugged  Chopin  in 
his  arms,  crying  : 

"Ah,  my  friend,  you  were  right  !  The  works  of  a  genius 
like  yours  are  sacred.  It  is  profanation  to  touch  them.  You 
are  a  real  poet,  and  I  am  only  a  mountebank." 

"  No  more  of  that !  "  quickly  retorted  Chopin.  "  We  each 
have  our  kind — you  yours  and  I  mine.  You  know  very  well 
that  no  one  in  the  world  can  play  Weber  and  Beethoven  like 
you.  By  the  way,  I  beg  you,  play  me  the  adagio  in  ut  dieze 
minor  of  Beethoven ;  but  play  seriously,  as  you  know  how  when 
you  will." 

Liszt  played  this  adagio,  putting  into  it  all  his  soul  and  will. 
The  effect  produced  upon  the  company  was  of  an  entirely  differ- 
ent sort.  Some  wept,  some  sobbed  ;  they  were  no  longer  the 
gentle  tears  Chopin  had  caused  to  flow,  but  the  cruel  tears  of 
which  '•'  Othello  "  speaks.  The  melody  of  the  second  artist, 
instead  of  softly  penetrating  the  heart,  plunged  into  it  like  a 
dagger.  It  was  no  longer  an  elegy  brit  a  drama. 

However,  Chopin  thought  himself  victor,  that  evening,  that 
he  had  eclipsed  Liszt,  and  he  boasted  of  it  in  saying.  "  How 
angry  he  is  ! "  Liszt,  hearing  of  this,  resolved  to  avenge  him- 
self. The  opportunity  offered  four  or  five  days  later.  The 
company  was  assembled,  and  at  about  the  same  hour,  toward  • 
midnight,  Liszt  begged  Chopin  to  play.  After  a  good  deal  of 
urging,  he  consented.  Liszt  asked  that  all  the  lights  be  put  out 
and  that  the  curtains  be  drawn,  so  that  the  obscurity  might  be 
complete.  It  was  the  caprice  of  an  artist,  and  readily  granted. 
But  at  the  moment  when  Chopin  was  placing  himself  at  the 
piano,  Liszt  whispered  a  few  words  in  his  ear,  and  took  his 
place.  Chopin,  who  had  no  suspicion  of  what  Liszt  intended 
to  do,  noiselessly  sat  down  in  an  easy  chair  near  the  piano. 
Then  Liszt  played  exactly  all  the  compositions  that  Chopin  had 
rendered  on  that  memorable  evening  of  which  we  have  spoken, 
playing  them  with  such  marvelous  imitation  of  the  style  and 
manner  of  his  rival  that  it  was  impossible  not  to  be  deceived, 


280  ACTING  AXD   ORATORY. 

and.  in  fact,  everybody  was  deceived.  The  same  enchantment, 
the  same  emotion  acted  upon  them  all.  When  the  ecstasy  was 
at  its  height,  Liszt  quickly  struck  a  match  and  lighted  the 
candle  on  the  piano.  A  cry  of  surprise  broke  out  from  the 
company. 

"  What !  is  it  you  ?  " 

"As  you  see,"  coolly  replied  Liszt. 

"But  we  thought  it  was  Chopin  !  " 

"  What  did  you  think  ?  "  gayly  asked  Liszt  of  his  rival. 

"  I,  like  everybody  else,  I  thought,  too,  it  was  Chopin  ! " 

"You  see,"  said  Liszt,  in  rising,  "that  Liszt  can  be  Chopin 
when  he  chooses  ;  but  is  Chopin  able  to  be  Liszt  ?  " 

It  was  a  challenge  that  Chopin  neither  wished  nor  dared  to 
accept.  Liszt  was  revenged. 

Money 

Is  a  good  thing  ;  to  be  independent ;  but  it  is  not  so  good  to 
win  when  one  crawls,  or  stoops  for  it.  It  is  unhealthy  when  it 
impoverishes  the  mind,  or  extinguishes  the  sense  of  beauty. 
When  it  engrosses  one's  thought,  to  live  meanly,  to  do  without 
books,  pictures,  music,  travel  and  prevents  doing  good  to  him- 
self or  others. 

THE    HAIR   AND   COSTUME. 

Hair-dressing  is  an  art.  Delicate  face,  airy  tresses.  Majes- 
tic face,  wavy  tufts.  Soften  harshness  of  features  by  contrast. 
The  hair-dresser  must  know  at  a  glance. 

The  hair  is  of  so  much  importance  to  the  face  that  the  grace- 
fulness of  a  woman's  head,  and  the  likeness  of  a  man's  portrait, 
depend  much  upon  its  arrangement. 

Among  men  long  hair  suggests  honor,  freedom,  simplicity, 
independence. 

The  hair  cut  imparts  the  air  of  austerity,  neatness,  adher- 
ence to  rules. 

The  moustache  is  a -sign  of  a  manly  temperament.  Bristling, 
rough,  contradictory,  conflicting  natures.  Rounded,  turned 
under,  softly  curled,  gentle,  thoughtful  character. 


THE  HAIR    AND    COSTUME.  281 

The  care  we  bestow  on  our  persons  is  politeness  to  others. 

Hair  falling  long  on  the  shoulders,  mildness.  Combed  back, 
enthusiasm.  Simply  smoothed  down  on  the  forehead,  calm, 
concentrated  enthusiasm. 

If  the  head  is  short,  that  is,  not  oval,  by  drawing  back 
the  hair  or  raising  it,  we  give  length  to  the  head.  It  must, 
however,  terminate  in  a  curve.  Bands  when  worn  should  be 
curved  on  each  side. 

If  the  head  is  long,  the  hair  should  be  puffed  at  the  sides, 
or  bands  worn  to  give  width. 

A  projecting  forehead,  deep  set  eyes,  hair  nearer  the  face. 

A  receding  head,  hair  brought  forward. 

The  shape  of  the  nose  is  the  first  of  importance  to  notice. 
If  straight  from  forehead  with  slight  depression,  hair  regular, 
quiet,  symmetrical,  little  ornament. 

Antique  statues,  hair  low,  deep,  with  perhaps  soft  ripples, 
twisted  behind,  a  curl  or  two  on  the  neck,  a  coronet,  pearls, 
horizontal  ribbons  of  victory,  severe  style.  The  face  must  be 
calm,  the  nose  a  little  thick,  especially  at  the  root,  the  eye  large 
and  full,  not  roguish,  or  spirituelle.  A  coiffure  de  genre  suits 
these,  as  well  as  the  pretty  nose. 

If  the  nose  is  short  and  turned  up,  the  hair  fanciful,  whim- 
sical, little  disordered,  a  stray  ringlet,  careless  bit  of  ribbon, 
spray  of  flowers,  a  curl  on  the  face,  lively,  dashing,  open  mouth, 
ready  speech,  bold  eye,  sprightly  air. 

A  correct  profile  is  by  no  means  the  same  as  a  high-bred 
face. 

Heads  with  character  about  them,  a  look  of  distinction,  a 
remarkable  expression,  a  grand  air.  The  nose  a  little  arched, 
or  almost  straight,  rather  long. 

Variety  is  the  enemy  of  severity.     A  single  color. 

Mowers  have  a  great  deal  of  character,  so  have  feathers,  rib- 
bons, lace  and  gauze.  It  is  only  as  light  bond  that  holds  all  this 
idea  and  our  feelings,  but  it  must  never  be  broken.  The  dahlia 
is  severe,'  the  camellia,  serene  and  noble.  Some  roses  and 
peonies  a  certain  magnificence ;  primroses,  lilacs,  heather,  for 
youth. 


282  ACTING   AXD    ORATOHY. 

» 

Young  women  should  wear  hair  off  of  face,  but  subject  to 
certain  conditions  as  to  forehead,  etc. 

Feathers  when  stiff,  determined,  gallant.  Pliant,  war- 
like grace.  A  single  feather,  elegant  and  haughty,  falling 
back.  Several  feathers,  curled  or  tufts,  or  coronet,  richness, 
style. 

The  suitableness  of  a  bonnet  may  vary.  For  the  country  a 
little  liberty  is  allowable.  For  a  pretty  woman,  of  lively  manner, 
even  a  masculine  or  military  air  in  her  head-dress.  Something 
bravado  to  contrast  with  her  delicacy.  For  riding,  or  with 
tourists,  something  manly. 

Nothing  is  more  unbecoming  than  a  checked  material  in  the 
dress,  especially  in  the  bodice.  The  regularity  makes  defects 
conspicuous.  If  the  check  is  very  small  it  is  not  noticeable. 
Stripes  at  right  angles,  less  color  in  one.  Scotch  or  Tartan 
silks  constantly  changing  in  tints  are  too  fancy  for  dress  and 
suitable  only  for  children  when  worn  short.  The  same  princi- 
ples which  govern  greater  things  rule  also  the  lesser.  Unity  is 
a  necessity  of  nobleness  in  the  apparently  most  frivolous  art,  as 
well  as  the  secret  of  greatness  in  the  highest  efforts  of  the  human 
mind. 

The  dignity  of  dress  is  increased  by  everything  which  allows 
uniformity  to  predominate,  while  relieving  it  by  slight  varia- 
tions, without  new  design  or  color. 

Materials  change  color  by  day  and  gas-light,  and  the  differ- 
ence must  be  noted. 

The  style  of  dress  should  also  depend  upon  the  shape  of  the 
nose.  If  the  nose  indicate  character,  or  pride,  the  dress  the 
same.  A  severe  costume,  colors  slightly  varied,  great  simplicity 
even  with  richness,  plain  materials,  sober  trimmings.  For  an 
irregular  nose,  attractive  face,  alternation,  diversity,  broken 
lines,  piquant  contrasts.  Two  extremes,  austerity  and  coquet- 
ry, pride  and  grace,  the  medium  quiet  elegance. 

The  bodice,  sleeves,  collar,  ruff,  girdle,  basques,  skirt,  tunic, 
flounces,  the  cross-bands,  ruches,  paletot,  tippet,  jacket,  waist- 
coat, shawl  and  mantle  all  decide  the  character  of  the  toilette 
as  to  being  made,  trimmed  and  worn. 

The  bodice  if  high,  modesty  ;  open,  the  same  if  like  a  shawl, 


THE  HAIR    AND    COSTUME.  283 

or  heart  shape  ;  square,  low  and  round  attracts  attention  to  the 
neck,  shoulders,  and  outline  of  the  bust. 

The  flounce  is  an  ornament  full  of  character.  It  adds  width, 
and  richness.  It  changes  by  being  plaited,  gathered,  ruched, 
quilled,  slashed,  with  or  without  a  heading. 

A  deep  plaited  flounce,  love  of-  order,  well-disciplined  mind, 
(antique)  regular,  rigid.  Flounces  on  a  tall  person  best.  If  the 
flounce  is  gathered,  the  quick  play  of  its  unfinished  folds,  fanci- 
ful freedom.  If  quilled  same  as  plaited. 

The  ruche,  the  most  delicate  invention,  made  in  gauze,  mus- 
lin, taffeta,  or  satin,  produces  a  charming  succession  of  small 
folds  in  a  straight  line.  Methodical  puckering,  intentional  dis- 
order to  a  symmetrical  effect. 

Width,  folds,  puffed  skirts  and  sleeves  add  importance  to 
characters,  they  enlarge  ;  scantiness  dwarfs.  Exaggeration  de- 
feats this  purpose  by  overwhelming  the  figure. 

The  art  of  disposing  the  foldings  of  drapery  makes  a  very 
considerable  part  of  an  actor's  study.  To  make  it  merely  natural 
is  a  mechanical  operation  ;  whereas  it  requires  the  nicest  judg- 
ment and  taste  to  dispose  of  it  so  that  the  folds  shall  have  an 
easy  communication,  and  gracefully  follow  each  other,  with  such 
«asy  negligence  as  to  look  like  the  effect  of  chance,  and  to  show 
the  figure  to  the  best  advantage. 

Our  promenades,  drawing-rooms,  theatres  are  crowded  with 
discordant  attires.  Entire  black,  with  a  rose  in  her  bonnet, 
makes  a  spot  in  her  costume.  Instead  of  harmonious  blue  and 
green,  or  complementary  colors,  used  in  unequal  proportions, 
green  and  red,  violet  and  yellow,  incongruous  reddish  browns 
next  to  fresh  tints,  pink  next  to  garnet,  fiery  red  to  mauve, 
blue  to  brown.  At  home  a  scarlet  waistcoat  over  a  petticoat  of 
groseille  des  alpes,  an  optical  scandal. 

The  effect  of  a  toilette  is  spoiled  if  the  shoes  are  not  in  keep- 
ing. Evening  shoes  should  match  with  the  dress,  even  of  the 
same  material,  perhaps. 

One  should  be  graceful  in  wearing  costume  from  habit. 


2S4  ACTIXG   AXD    ORATORY. 

Colors.  —  Gayety  in  light ;  mystery  and  melancholy  in 
shadow  ;  and  sadness  in  night. 

Yellow  and  black  for  Nubian,  Arab,  and  Spanish  ;  bold, 
defiant.  White  makes  one  look  taller,  larger ;  black,  smaller, 
shorter. 

Ked  has  an  expression  of  dignity,  magnificence,  pomp.  In 
some  it  suggests  pride,  bravery  and  license.  It  asserts  strong 
will,  and  provokes  observation. 

Blue  expresses  purity.  It  is  unimaginative  ;  ether,  blue  sea 
when  calm  ;  celestial.  Light  blue,  innocence.  Dark,  romantic 
affections,  evening  thoughts.  Solitude,  mystery,  silence. 

Orange,  used  sparingly. 

Green  is  the  most  suitable  ground  for  other  colors  ;  with 
yellow  and  blue,  heightens  red  ;  amiable  gentle  thoughts,  com- 
bined with  black,  sadness. 

Violet  expresses  inflated  wealth,  melancholy. 

It  is  the  red  encroached  on  by  the  blue. 

The  Moor,  Negro.  Arab  and  Indian  deck  with  staring  lines. 
Some  colors  go  well  with  all.  Black,  light  grey,  pearl  grey, 
light  brown  ;  thfey  are  warm  in  the  shade,  cold  in  the  light. 

For  blonde  or  red  hair,  soft  deep  velvet  black ;  for  brunette 
glossy  satin  or  silk,  faille  or  softened  like  velvet  with  rich  re- 
flections. 

Black  for  fair  persons,  white  for  dark.  Light  grey  must 
have  a  lustrous  surface  for  a  dark  person.  Yellow  and  red  for 
brunettes,  blue  for  blondes,  but  yet  there  are  exceptions. 

For  swarthy  brunette,  brilliant  yellow  and  splendid  red.  A 
jonquil  colored  ribbon,  scarlet  camellia  in  the  hair,  poppy-colored 
bodice,  partially  softened  by  chantilly  lace  will  look  dashing. 

For  delicate  brunette,  slightly  jaded  features,  or  skin  com- 
paratively fair,  eyes  velvety  black,  soft  colors  ;  pale  blue. 
Golden  blonde,  violets  in  the  hair,  deep  lilac  dress,  green  me- 
dium. Delicate  blonde,  orange  or  ruby  red,  perhaps  yellow  on 
some,  but  match  hair. 

Chestnut  hair,  pale  yellow,  maize,  deep  yellow,  turquoise 
blue,  and  hazy  blue.  Ash-colored  hair,  half-warm  tints. 
Black  velvet,  pearls,  with  garnet,  ruby,  gold. 


THE  PASSIONS.  285 

Decorations. 

Generally  speaking,  decorations  should  have  a  tone,  suitable 
to  bring  out  the  colors  of  dresses,  more  or  less  brownish  in  char- 
acter. If,  however,  a  red  is  to  be  used,  or  green,  or  white,  the 
actor  should  avoid  similar  colors  in  his  dress,  as  the  one  neutral- 
izes the  other.  If  a  color  must  be  used  in  the  scene  the  painter 
must  make  it  aerial  in  tone  so  as  not  to  contrast  too  violently 
with  the  costumes  to  be  worn.  Large  patterns  on  either  dress 
or  scene  tend  to  dwarf  the  person,  or  diminish  size  of  room. 
Perpendicular  stripes  increase,  horizontal  stripes  decrease,  the 
height  of  the  person  or  face.  Artificial  light  renders  orange 
and  red  warmer ;  sky-blue  has  a  greenisli  tint,  dark  blue,  dark, 
heavy  color ;  green  resembles  blue  ;  purple  becomes  redder  if  it 
inclines  to  red,  and  darker  if  it  inclines  to  blue.  A  dress  should 
be  selected  accordingly. 

THE    PASSIONS. 

MEN"  vary  remarkably  in  the  ardency  of  their  feelings.  The 
external  physical  character  generally  indicates  the  nature  and 
force  of  the  passions.  People  of  warm  climates  are  more  apt  to 
be  hasty. 

Active.  Passive. 

Pleasurable  Surprise.  Helpless  Amazement. 

Sudden  Mirth.  Embarrassment. 

Jollity.  Perplexity. 

Frolicsomeness.  Painful  Surprise. 

Joyful  Transport.  Fits  of  Sorrow  and  Sadness. 

Rapture.  Apprehension. 

Courage.  Depression. 

Rage.  Faint-heartedness. 

Vexation.  Shame. 

Admiration.  Fear. 

Enthusiasm.  Anguish. 

Ecstasy.  Terror. 

Horror. 

Repentance. 

Despair. 


286  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

The  active — announced  by  the  general  rise,  the  massive  flow, 
quicker  rhythm,  with  a  feeling  of  power,  muscular  elasticity, 
readiness  to  act,  general  increase  of  vitality. 

The  Passion  has  to  be  distinguished  from  the  Affection  ; 
affection  from  violent  sensations,  (passion  of  unguarded  desires.) 
When  a  higher  feeling  is  hurt  an  affection  ensues  ;  when  an  in- 
clination is  thwarted,  a  passion  is  excited.  Passion  is  a  fixed, 
predominant  disposition  towards  a  certain  desire  that  refuses 
control  of  the  reason,  or  an  affection  rising  to  intensity. 

Love  burns,  Care  oppresses,  Remorse  gnaws. 

Dizziness  is  a  feeling  of  sense,  an  excessive  stimulation  of 
the  brain  by  an  object  of  sense.  Expectation  is  the  hurrying 
forward  of  the  thoughts  into  the  future  ;  another  form  is  lying- 
in-wait  (Plot-interest).  A  favorable  result  gives  Satisfaction  ; 
oppositely,  Disappointment.  When  something  different  ensues 
then  comes  Surprise,  pleasurable,  painful,  or  indifferent ;  when 
there  is  difficulty  in  reconciling  the  mind,  then  Astonishment ; 
continued,  Amazement.  The  rhythm  is  then  either  perfect  or 
destroyed.  Hope  and  fear  are  special  forms  of  expectation,  in- 
determinate. Anxiety  is  the  fear  of  a  great  evil  to  follow  ; 
Fright  follows,  Consternation  and  Terror  are  intenser  forms. 
Care  is  continued  Fear. 

Softness  of  sounds  generally  produces  impressions  of  calm- 
ness, repose,  tranquil  pleasure,  and  every  gradation  of  these 
different  states  of  mind.  Loud,  boisterous,  and  piercing  sounds 
excite  strong  emotions,  and  are  proper  for  the  expression  of 
courage,  anger,  jealousy,  and  other  violent  passions,  and  sounds, 
constantly  soft,  would  become  wearisome  by  their  uniformity ; 
if  always  loud  they  would  fatigue  both  the  mind  and  ear. 

Temperaments. 

Athletic. — Muscular;  feeble  intellect ;  solid. 

Sanguine. — Form  rounded,  heavy  ;  skin  rosy ;  face  round  ; 
fair  hair  ;  ample  forehead  ;  eyes  blue  or  grey  ;  prominent. 

Lymphatic. — Dull  skin  ;  blue  veins  ;  morbid  air  ;  doughy 
look. 


NERVOUS  TEMPERAMENT,  2$? 

Nervous.—  Face  restless  ;  look  pale  ;  eyes  black  ;  hair  black 
or  brown ;  veins  prominent ;  skin  transparent,  not  strong ; 
quick,  high  imagination  ;  melancholic  ;  ardent. 

Bilious. — Brownish,  thin  visage  ;  eyes  and  hair  brown ; 
bushy  brows  ;  look  penetrating,  nose  straight ;  lips  thin  ;  body 
firm  ;  dry,  persevering,  (cruel)  ambitious. 

The  Emotional  Temperament,  is  generally  tender,  compas- 
sionate  and  affectionate  with  all  its  peculiarities.  Tenderness 
when  strongly  manifested  induces  a  warm,  hearty,  genial  ex- 
pression unlike  all  else  ;  children  ;  social  ties. 

Emotional  courage  is  the  efficacy  of  a  high  emotional  tem- 
perament in  maintaining  the  sang  froid.  The  essence  of  this 
temperament  is  cheerfulness,  hilarity,  and  fear  does  not  operate 
until  this  has  been  destroyed.  The  longer  this  holds  out,  the 
longer  is  fear  withstood.  Animal  courage  scouts  danger,  the 
emotional  is  hopeful  and  slow  to  realize  danger. 

Nervous  Temperament. 

Fine  thin  hair,  thin  skin,  small  thin  muscles,  quick  muscular 
motion,  pale  countenance,  often  delicate  health.  The  whole 
nervous  system,  including  the  brain,  is  predominantly  active  and 
energetic,  and  the  mental  manifestations  are  proportionally 
vivacious  and  powerful. 

Bodily  strength  and  endurance  depend  partly  on  the  muscles 
and  partly  on  the  stimulation  from  the  nerve  centres  ;  and  when 
great  efforts  are  put  forth  the  nerves  are  what  are  principally 
drawn  upon.  A  strong  nervous  system  can  put  forth  more  of 
this  effort  when  occasion  requires  it,  and  can  thereby  sustain 
the  energies  for  a  longer  time  after  the  muscles  have  reached 
the  point  of  exhaustion.  It  is  then  that  a  superior  brain  makes 
itself  apparent,  better  by  quality  than  quantity.  A  sudden  and 
temporary  power,  excitability  from  the  one,  a  more  enduring 
flow  from  the  other. 

A  good  digestive  system  is  the  basis  of  vigor  to  all  parts. 
It  sustains  mind,  and  is  the  prime  condition  of  good  animal 
spirits.  It  is  of  more  importance  than  muscles. 

The  lungs  also  contribute  in  a  decisive  manner  to  vigor.  A 
broad,  deep  chest  almost  of  itself  makes  a  powerful  frame.  The 


ACTING  AND   ORATORY. 

action  of  tUe  heart  though  farther  removed  determines  as  well 
the  vigor  and  duration  of  life.  Overstrained  cerebral  activity 
preys  on  the  stomach,  on  the  lungs,  and  still  more  upon  the 
heart,  and  needs  to  be  resisted  by  great  soundness  of  them  all. 
One  may  be  vigorous,  the  others  weak,  or  average  ;  or  two 
strong  and  one  weak,  or  all  average. 

Some  men  do  with  vigor  everything  they  undertake,  others 
are  languid  in  their  pursuits.  For  a  mere  trifle  one  is  all  push 
the  other  cannot  be  driven.  It  is  will  to  will  strongly. 

The  Emotional  Temperament. 

Not  unfrequently  a  rounded  and  full  habit  of  body,  a  con- 
stitution apparently  of  great  vigor  in  the  secreting  organs,  and 
less  inclined  to  muscularity.  Most  probably  feminine. 

Pleasure. — Pain. 

The  expression  of  pleasure  is  an  erect  body,  expanded  fea- 
tures, hearty  exclamations,  increased  respiration,  and  exuberant 
laughter — all  this  expenditure  being  only  what  the  system  is 
able  to  afford  ;  while  in  pain  the  body  is  bent,  the  features  col- 
lapse, the  voice  groans,  respiration  is  retarded  ;  or,  if  the  acute- 
ness  of  the  shock  stimulates  convulsive  movements,  they  are 
what  the  system  cannot  afford,  and  prostration  follows.  One 
gives  energy  to,  the  other  takes  it  from,  the  system. 

To  enjoy  much  there  must  be  abundant  vitality  in  the  system. 

There  are  moments  in  every  one's  life,  when  a  small  irrita- 
tion annihilates  all  the  force  of  resistance  that  keeps  the  mind 
from  positive  wretchedness  ;  and  there  are  constitutions  that  can 
undergo  a  large  abatement  without  sinking.  These  are  of  the 
genuine  well-endowed  emotional  temperament. 

In  every  aptitude — active,  emotional,  or  intellectual — there 
are  possibilities  of  great  temporary  displays  beyond  the  natural 
strength  of  the  system  to  support,  and  they  are  therefore  fol- 
lowed by  reaction. 

Excitable  persons  owe  their  distress  not  to  depressing  influ- 
ences, but  to  their  previous  happiness  ;  and  if  a  cause  of  misery 
be  added,  language  fails  to  depict  their  gloom. 


PLEASURE — PAIN.  289 

The  expression  and  demeanor  of  an  emotional  nature  is  ne- 
cessarily abundant  and  intense.  The  manifestations  of  every 
kind  of  feeling  are  vehement  and  protracted,  and  always  ready. 
In  joy,  the  tremor  of  the  frame,  the  glances  of  the  eye,  the 
smile,  the  laugh,  the  embrace,  are  a  torrent  that  cannot  be  re- 
sisted. Even  in  depressing  states,  such  as  would  sink  an  ordi- 
nary being  into  lifeless  collapse,  this  constitution  can  send  forth 
an  energetic  wail,  and  inspire  a  fury  of  demonstrative  grief  that 
strikes  awe  into  the  many  and  entrances  the  artist.  Hence  the 
emotional  temperament  is  a  powerful  engine  of  acting  and  elo- 
quence. 

A  consummate  actor  may  assume  on  the  stage,  for  a  half- 
hour  together,  an  energetic  and  passionate  demeanor ;  and  we 
all  know  the  tumultuous  stir  that  may  be  imparted  to  an  au- 
dience even  by  an  intense  show  of  feeling.  Ascendency  is 
acquired  with  ease  with  a  copiousness  of  the  emotional  fountain. 
As  human  beings  are  constituted,  the  man  of  strong  feelings 
becomes  the  favorite.  Being  made  to  feel,  to  have  our  choicest 
emotions  induced  upon  us,  is,  in  reality,  the  final  end  of  all  our 
labor ;  and  he  that  can  effect  this  for  us  at  once,  is  the  man 
after  our  heart.  Sometimes  the  fact  of  theirs  being  the  strong 
type,  makes  them  somewhat  tyrannical  towards  such  as  cannot 
cope  with  their  vehement  modes  of  sensibility. 

A  feeble  or  ordinary  temperament,  even  when  really  inter- 
ested, is  soon  fatigued.  The  other  finds  the  time  too  short  for 
its  powers.  In  one  the  mind  becomes  weary,  in  the  other  it 
cannot  be  satisfied.  It  enjoys  richly  and  often.  It  is  a  conse- 
quence of  this  large  capacity  that  such  natures  are  usually  nice 
or  difficult  to  satisfy. 

The  difference  then  between  the  active  and  emotional  tem- 
perament is,  that  the  one  overflows  in  action  under  slight  mo- 
tives ;  the  other  is  only  to  be  moved  by  a  powerful  feeling,  but 
may  then  be  moved  strongly.  The  one  works  better  even  though 
the  details  are  dry,  while  the  other  neglects  what  has  not  an  in- 
tense interest.  Indolence  is  the  tendency  of  the  purely  emotional. 
The  active  puts  forth  effort  to  ward  off  evil.  The  emotional  can 
swallow  up  a  great  quantity,  before  the  lowest  depths  of  wretched- 


290  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

ness  are  reached.  The  vehement  demonstration,  the  lively  wail, 
the  pathos,  the  complaint,  not  to  speak  of  the  artistic  shapes 
that  these  can  be  made  to  assume,  are  the  specifics  for  these,  who 
are  peculiarly  fitted  for  the  copious  venting  of  their  feelings,  and 
for  being  comforted  after  that  fashion.  He  that  cannot  afford 
this  luxury,  which  would  exhaust,  must  ward  off  the  misery 
beforehand ;  his  affliction  is  too  deep  for  tears,  too  drastic  for 
poetical  lament. 

The  strong  emotions  make  strong  beliefs,  bright  or  gloomy. 
As  a  general  rule  the  sanguine  is  to  be  predicated.  When  such 
persons  believe,  their  faith  in  whatever  they  attempt  is  thorough, 
and  can  carry  them  over  obstacles.  They  may  want  intellectual 
consistency,  they  may  not  always  be  ready  for  action,  because 
feelings  are  not  enlisted,  but  they  are  sincere  and  energetic  at 
heart  when  moved. 

There  being  a  distaste  for  operations  that  have  no  immediate 
strong  feeling,  the  dry  details  of  knowledge  are  repelled. 

If  the  common  instrument  be  bad,  it  matters  little  that  a 
powerful  blast  is  operating  on  it. 

The  impulsive  character  is  when  the  manifestations  are 
powerful  not  from  an  emotional  nature  but  from  strong  special 
sensibilities. 

So  remarkable  is  the  interchange  of  influence  between  the 
mental  feelings  and  bodily  conditions,  that  by  imitating  the 
attitude  and  general  expression  of  a  particular  passion,  the  sense 
of  that  passion  will  generally  be  given  in  the  mind. 

Genius,  high  mental  culture  and  refinement  generally  go 
with  an  excitable  temperament,  with  moral  and  physical  sus- 
ceptibilities, oftentimes  even  morbidly  delicate.  A  certain 
degree  of  refinement  may  be  desirable,  but  excess  is  incompati- 
ble and  unfits  us  for  the  duties  of  life. 

The  passions  founded  on  pleasure  cause  an  expansion  of  vital 
action.  The  blood  flows  more  freely,  the  countenance  brightens. 
The  body  is  buoyant  and  lively.  But  even  felicity  itself,  if  it  ex- 
ceed the  bounds  of  moderation,  will  oppress,  and  sometimes 


ANGER.  291 

overwhelm  us.  When  pleasurable  feelings  are  extravagant,  they 
soon  become  painful.  The  extremity  of  pleasure  is  pain. 
Great  joy  is  sometimes  expressed  by  sobbing  and  tears,  and 
great  grief  and  fear  by  hysterical  smiles  and  laughter  even  im- 
moderate. Laughter  and  weeping  are  oftentimes  mingled  in 
joy  and  sorrow. 

Joy. 

Joy  elevates  the  tone  of  the  body.  Extravagant  and  unex- 
pected joy  unduly  excites  the  nervous  system ;  increases  un- 
naturally and  unequally  the  circulation,  and  occasions  a  painful 
stricture  of  the  heart  and  lungs,  accompanied  with  sighing, 
sobbing,  and  panting  as  in  severe  grief.  Under  its  influence, 
too,  the  visage  will  turn  pale,  the  limbs  tremble  and  refuse  their 
support ;  and  in  extreme  cases,  fainting  will  ensue,  convulsions, 
hysterics,  madness,  temporary  ecstasy,  or  catalepsy,  and  even 
instant  death,  or  transfix  one  motionless  to  the  spot,  his  joy 
ending  in  idiotism. 

Those  who  live  in  constant  ecstasy  of  delight  die  earlier. 
Grief  wears  also. 

Grief. 

In  grief,  or  those  passions  founded  on  pain,  the  tone  is  de- 
pressed, the  blood  leaves  the  surface,  and  thrown  in  undue 
quantity  upon  the  internal  organs,  and  there  follows  that  in- 
ward oppression  and  a  desire  for  fresh  air.  Hence  the  sighing, 
a  deep  inspiration  and  a  similar  expiration  to  relieve  the  heart 
and  lungs  of  their  suffocative  load,  that  tightness  and  weight  at 
the  chest. 

Besides  these,  a  dryness  of  the  mouth,  from  the  suppression 
of  the  salivary  secretion,  almost  always  attends  severe  affections 
of  the  mind.  This  produces  huskjness  of  voice,  frequent  and 
difficult  swallowing.  In  time  grief  even  makes  curly  hair 
straight. 

Sometimes  grief  and  anger  explode  in  violent  action  and 
vociferation,  and  tears  flow  abundantly. 

Anger. 

Anger  is  founded  on  the  instinct  of  self-preservation.     It  is 


292  ACTIXG   AND    ORATORY. 

aroused  by  opposition  to  our  ease  or  security,  and  urges  us  to 
repel  or  destroy  the  cause  of  our  unhappiness. 

In  an  extreme  paroxysm  the  most  painful  phenomena  are 
exhibited.  The  countenance  is  distorted,  the  eye  sparkles  with 
a  brutal  fury.  All  the  vital  actions  are  oppressed,  even  nearly 
overwhelmed.  The  blood  recedes  from  the  countenance,  leaving 
it  blanched  ;  and  tremors  come  over  the  limbs,  and  sighing  and 
sobbing,  spasms,  and  convulsions  are  frequent.  The  motion  of 
the  heart  is  feeble,  painful,  labored.  The  breathing  is  short 
and  suffocative,  and  a  tightness  in  the  chest  and  throat,  a  chok- 
ing wholly  interrupting  speech. 

Fainting,  and  even  death,  take  place  in  violent  anger  at 
times. 

Active  Anger. 

The  heart  beats  quickly,  the  blood  rushes  to  the  head  and 
face,  the  lips  swell,  the  eyes  redden.  The  muscles  contract 
with  preternatural  strength  ;  the  fists  clench  as  for  combat. 
The  whole  action  resembles  that  of  the  maniac  rather  than  of  a 
rational  being. 

Fear. 

Some  even  from  childhood  are  notable  for  their  cowardice. 
Habit  will  do  much  towards  conquering  timidity. 

Even  the  most  delicate  and  effeminate  in  body,  have  faced 
dangers  and  borne  sufferings  under  which  stouter  hearts  would 
have  quailed.  Terror  causes  the  hair  to  stand  on  end,  and  even 
blanch. 

Acute  Fear. 

The  respiration  is  strikingly  affected.  On  the  first  impulse, 
owing  to  a  spasmodic  contraction  of  the  diaphragm,  a  sudden  in- 
spiration takes  place,  directly  succeeded  by  an  incomplete  expi- 
ration, a  spasm  or  interruption  of  throat  or  lungs  ;  the  blood  is 
sent  to  the  heart  and  makes  it  beat.  The  voice  trembles,  is 
husky,  and  thick.  Even  temporary  speechlessness  at  first. 
Chills  spread  over  the  flesh  in  streams  ;  and  cold  sweats  break 
forth,  especially  about  the  forehead.  Partial  tremors  of  the 
limbs,  and  a  chattering  of  the  teeth,  as  in  the  ague.  An  in- 


JEALOUSY.  293 

tense  misery,  wasting  the  energies,  subduing  the  spirit,  impress- 
ing the  mind,  like  darkness,  doubt  and  gloom.  Under  its 
forcible  actions,  the  eyes  glare  wildly  from  their  sockets,  and 
the  whole  countenance  is  drawn  to  a  repulsive  expression.  Con- 
vulsive sobbing,  accompanied  by  profuse  tears.  In  delicate 
females,  hysterics  ensue,  or  they  become  dumb  and  motionless. 

Few  passions  long  maintain  their  simple  and  original  char- 
acter, but  others  become  blended  with  them. 

In  fear  the  first  impulse  is  flight.  But  when  escape  is  found 
to  be  impracticable,  then  the  victim  will  be  often  driven  to  the 
most  desperate  resistance  ;  and  thus,  even  the  greatest  cowards 
have  sometimes  acquired  the  fame  of  heroes  from  their  seem- 
ing courage. 

Extreme  terror  will  sometimes  cause  the  dumb  to  speak,  the 
paralytic  to  walk,  and  obstinate  disease  to  yield  to  it.  Fear 
breaks  down  manliness,  degrades  the  energies.  Courage  secures 
to  the  constitution  its  full  measure  of  power. 

To  love  is  to  enjoy,  to  hate  is  to  suffer. 

The  greater  mind  exposes  a  larger  surface  to  impression. 
The  cultivated  have  more  delicate  and  refined  sensibilities,  and 
are  more  exposed  to  vicissitudes  of  fortune. 

Despair  abandons  every  exertion.  It  either  shuns  men  and 
seeks  the  deepest  gloom,  or  seeks  to  lessen  its  misery  by  violent 
action  or  dissipation.  Sometimes  it  urges  on  its  reckless  victim 
to  the  most  desperate  acts. 

Females  exempt  from  business  cares  and  confined  at  home, 
oftener  pine  under  wounded  affections  or  loss. 

Shame. 

The  blood  flies  to  the  face,  and  to  the  neck  and  ears,  suffus- 
ing them  with  crimson.  The  eyes  too  often  participate  in  it, 
and  the  vision  becomes  obscured. 

Sometimes  the  memory  fails,  the  thoughts  grow  confused, 
the  tongue  trips,  the  actions  are  awkward,  the  feet  totter. 

Jealousy. 

Often  turns  even  the  gentlest  nature  into  that  of  a  fury  or 
demon. 


294  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

Sensibility. 

Persons  of  a  nervous  temperament  are  commonly  irresolute, 
capricious,  and  unnaturally  sensitive.  Their  passions,  good  or 
evil,  are  roused  with  facility,  and  the  most  trifling  causes  will 
elate  or  sink  them.  Deep  enthusiasm  marks  their  character, 
and  they  often  display  high  talent  and  taste,  and  they  generally 
make  poets,  painters,  musicians  and  actors ;  but,  unfortu- 
nately, their  occupations  often  tend  to  increase  their  troubles, 
by  increasing  their  sensibilities. 

We  can  generally  choose  some  of  our  naturally  foremost  sen- 
sibilities as  the  subject  of  special  cultivation,  and  thus  make 
more  of  them  than  we  found  them  at  first.  We  can  artificially 
heighten  what  was  originally  a  little  above  the  other  feelings. 

Happiness  itself  may  become  habitual.  Hume  said  that  the 
habit  of  looking  at  the  bright  side  was  better  than  an  income 
of  a  thousand  a  year. 

A  person  inclined  to  kindly  feeling  may  also  be  a  good 
hater.  A  tender  mother  may  be  violent  to  one  who  injures  her 
little  ones. 

Sometimes  direct,  sometimes  indirect  passion.  Marc  An- 
tony is  an  example  of  indirect. 

Genuine  passion  speaks  low,  little. 

Emotion. 

Emotion  is  the  very  breath  and  life-blood  of  thought ;  it  is 
dead  without  it.  Indeed,  emotion  has  an  independent  life. 
Once  raise  a  thought  to  its  highest  power,  and  it  passes  from 
the  condition  of  a  thought  into  that  of  an  emotion  altogether. 

The  art  of  a  fine  actor  culminates,  not  in  the  rounded  period, 
nor  even  the  loud  roar  and  violent  gesture  of  excited  passion, 
but  in  the  breathless  silence  of  intense  feeling,  as  he  stands 
apart  and  allows  the  impotency  of  exhausted  symbols — the  quiv- 
ering lips  and  the  glazed  eye — to  express  for  him  the  crisis  of 
inarticulate  emotion. 

In  proportion  to  its  intensity,  thought  has  a  tendency  to  pass 
into  a  region  of  abstract  emotion,  independent  and  self-suf- 


STYLES.  295 

ficing  evaporation  of  thought  in  emotion.  Even  though  the 
emotional  region  is  constantly  traversed  by  thoughts  of  every 
description,  it  has  a  life  of  its  own,  like  water  with  the  reflec- 
tions that  pass  across  its  surface. 

Language  is  given  to  us  to  indicate  the  existence  of  a  vast 
number  of  truths,  which  can  be  fully  realized  by  other  and  more 
subtle  modes  of  expression. 

True  Art-Discipline. 

The  best  art  is.  like  Shakespeare's  and  Titian's,  always  true 
to  the  great,  glad  aboriginal  instincts  of  our  nature  ;  severely 
faithful  to  its  foibles ;  never  rejoicing  in  the  exercise  of  morbid 
fancy  ;  many-sided,  without  being  unbalanced  ;  tender,  without 
weakness  ;  and  forcible,  without  losing  the  fine  sense  of  propor- 
tion. If  meaningless,  sure  to  be  false. 

The  highest  service  that  art  can  accomplish  for  man  is,  to 
become  at  once  the  voice  of  his  aspirations,  and  the  steady  dis- 
ciplinarian of  his  emotions.  False,  abused,  or  frivolous  emo- 
tion is  often  opposed  to  true,  disciplined,  or  sublime  feeling. 
It  should  not  be  the  vamped-up  feelings  of  jaded  appetite,  or 
the  false,  inconsequent  spasms  of  the  sentimentalist,  but  the 
experience  of  high  or  sad  moods,  and  with  the  truth  of  life. 
The  one  is  stagey — it  smells  of  the  oil  and  rouge-pot.  The  other 
is  real,  earnest,  natural,  and  reproduces  with  irresistible  force 
the  deepest  emotional  experiences  of  our  lives.  Emotion  pro- 
duced by  shocks,  surprises,  and  spasms,  like  water  charged  with 
electricity,  does  not  recreate,  but  kindles  artificial  feelings,  and 
rnukes  reality  tasteless.  Feeling,  not  disciplined,  becomes  weak, 
diseased,  and  unnatural. 

Styles. 

1.  Those  who  study  the  author  and  express  themselves. 

2.  Those  who  express  themselves  regardless  of  author. 

3.  Those  who  express  author  regardless  of  self. 

4.  Those  who  caricature  both. 

5.  Those  who  express  other  people's  views  of  author. 

6.  The  dullards  who  express  nothing. 

There  is  nothing  demoralizing  in  the  experience,  at  times, 


•J."i  ACTIX<;  A.\D  O 

of  the  highest  strung  emotions.  It  is  rather  a  good  and  healthy 
function  of  art  to  frequently  raise  our  feelings  to  their  highest: 
pitch  of  intensity.  It  is  part  of  a  right  system  of  discipline, 
calculated  to  bring  the  emotions  into  high  condition  and  healthy 
activity,  and  to  keep  them  in  a  good  state  of  repair. 

The  laws  which  regulate  the  life  and  health  of  the  emotions 
prescribe  steady  exercise,  rest,  recreation,  and  sometimes  ex- 
treme tension.  The  habitual  exercise  and  discipline  of  the 
emotions  is  the  very  condition  of  moral  health.  It  is  the  KIXD 
of  strain  that  ruins — excess.  There  is  peril  of  overwrought 
powers.  When  the  mind,  through  excessive  artistic  excite- 
ment, retains  only  its  motion,  not  its  power,  then  absolute  re- 
pose is  needed.  There  are  bounds  to  healthful,  though  intense, 
excitation.  One  or  two  great  sustained  efforts  during  the  week 
are  enough, — or  chronic  exhaustion  results,  and  then  recourse 
is  had  to  stimulants. 

Passion  may  be  made  to  blaze  forth  by  one  who  is  destitute 
of  passion,  but  he  alone  is  able  to  awaken  affection  who  is  him- 
self enlivened  by  it.  Only  when  the  orator  or  actor  succeeds  in 
imparting  the  idea,  which  is  living  and  creative  in  his  own 
mind,  to  the  hearer,  in  an  equal  degree  of  force  and  clearness, 
will  the  idea  come  forth  into  activity  in  both  speaker  and  hearer 
with  equal  power — the  same  affection  in  each.  It  is  an  ethical 
idea  gradually  carried  up  to  its  highest  completeness  that  awak- 
ens affection. 

There  are  men  who  at  first  sight  inspire  confidence,  because 
they  assert  a  distinctive  and  superior  individuality  with  dignity, 
and  set  it  forth  with  modesty,  while  at  the  same  time  they  con- 
cede its  full  rights  to  the  individuality  of  others. 

The  true  way  is  to  earnestly  wish  for  feeling,  and  be  disposed 
to  receive  and  express  it  as  nature  suggests.  Passions  should  be 
decisive  ;  the  instant  the  tone  is  relaxed  the  tragic  ceases. 

A  certain  energy  of  stimulation  is  necessary  to  produce  those 
gestures,  changes  of  features,  vocal  outbursts  that  are  apparent 
to  an  observer.  One  may  experience  a  certain  thrill  of  pleasure, 
without  even  a  smile  ;  but  it  is  to  be  inferred  that  a  nervous 
wave  is  diffused  to  the  muscles  of  the  face,  and  the  other  parts 


ACTING    OF  THE   PASSIONS.  297 

of  the  body  ;  the  failure  in  expression  being  due  to  the  mechani- 
cal inadequacy  of  the  central  stimulus. 

The  energy  of  the  demonstration  may  vary  in  different  in- 
dividuals, and  in. the  same  person  at  different  times.  There  is 
a  certain  vigor  and  freshness  of  limb,  feature,  and  voice  dispos- 
ing those  parts  to  activity,  and  seeking  only  an  occasion  to  burst 
forth.  Feebleness,  and  exhaustion  paralyze  the  display,  with- 
out destroying  the  susceptibility  of  feeling. 

It  is  best  to  allow  feeling  to  accumulate  by  restraint,  and 
not  incessantly  draw  upon  it.  Some  of  the  intensest  moments 
of  pleasure  are  preceded  by  long  privation. 

Nervous  energy  is  economized  and  made  up  from  conspiring 
nerve  currents  on  the  one  hand,  and  wasted  by  conflicting  cur- 
rents on  the  other. 

Acting  of  the  Passions. 

Joy. — Warm,  conscious  expansion  of  the  heart,  vivacity  in 
look,  air  and  accent.  For  application  note  the  character  of  the 
language.  Not  utter  a  word  until  conceived  and  felt  in  the 
character.  Look  in  a  mirror  to  make  sure  of  its  sincerity. 
Forehead  opened,  raised  ;  eye  smiling ;  neck  stretched  and 
raised ;  new  height ;  breast  inflated  ;  limbs  majestic,  braced.  If 
genuine,  voice  will  prove  it.  Nature's  marks  imitated  till  they 
seem  natural. 

Grief. — Muscles  lax  ;  tone  and  look  hard  and  austere  (slow 
time  ;  dwell  on  the  words)  ;  limbs  nerveless  ;  throat  convulsed  ; 
paroxysm  of  suffocation. 

Fear. — Muscles  lax  ;  voice  not  plaintive  ;  eyes  wide,  not 
fixed  ;  mouth  still  ;  steps  shifting,  apprehensive,  nerveless. 
Not  a  word  until  idea  felt,  look  adapted,  and  nerves  express  it. 
Not  hurry  over  language,  but  adapt  as  you  proceed,  or  verbal. 
This  rests  the  voice  at  every  turn,  a  chance  to  recover  expended 
breath  unnoticed.  To  audience  these  pensive  pausings  will  ap- 
pear strong  and  natural  attitudes  of  thinking,  and  the  inward 
agitations  of  the  soul.  Otherwise  mere  memory. 

Terror. — The  heart  Avith  spasm,  beats  wildly,  or  fainting, 
then  death-like  pallor.  The  breath  is  short,  labored  ;  chest  ele- 
vated ;  the  nostrils  dilated  ;  gasping  and  convulsive  motion 


298  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

of  lips  ;  tremor  of  cheek  ;  gulping  of  throat ;  eyeballs  protrude, 
or  roll,  the  pupils  enormous  ;  great  beads  of  sweat  on  brows, 
elevated  to  utmost ;  the  muscles  rigid,  or  convulsive  ;  hands 
clenched  and  opened,  alternately  ;  often  twitching  ;  arms  spread 
to  avert  danger,  or  thrown  wildly  over  the  head ;  muscles  of 
neck  and  shoulder  move. 

Love. — (Joy  and  Fear.)  Tenderness,  expanded  softness  in 
the  heart ;  nerves  braced  with  warmth  to  high  pitch  of  joy  ; 
looks  tender ;  fear  and  pleasure  ;  not  faint,  harsh,  insincere, 
declamatory. 

Pity. — Sad  look  ;  braced,  animated  gesture  ;  at  first  strain 
muscles  as  for  joy,  then  add  sad  look,  springs  on  the  muscles 
(for  joy),  sad  look  for  sorrow.  The  more  strongly  the  braced 
nerves  opposed  to  distress  of  looks,  the  more  beautiful.  Then 
paint  to  the  ear,  never  any  strain  in  pausing,  and  yet  shake 
hearts,  even  in  the  greatest  passions. 

Scorn. — Muscles  slack  ;  contempt,  smiles. 

Hatred. — Muscles  braced  ;  sad  look  ;  eyes  averted. 

Anger. — Impatient,  by  propension  in  the  eye  ;  disturbed 
and  threatening  air ;  voice  strong,  swift,  interrupted  by  high 
swells  of  chopping  indignation,  sinews  braced ;  the  blood  in 
violent  motion;  set  teeth;  wide  nostrils;  seem  to  invent; 
sometimes  hurry. 

Rage. — Heart  active  ;  face  red,  purple  or  deadly  pale  ;  breath 
labored  ;  chest  heaves  ;  wide  nostrils,  quiver  ;  teeth  set,  ground  ; 
almost  frantic  ;  gestures  like  fighting. 

Relaxation  of  the  muscles  is  seen  in  the  dropping  of  the  jaw, 
in  the  collapse  of  all  the  organs  not  specially  excited,  in  the 
tremblings  of  the  lips  and  other  parts,  and  a  general  loosening. 
The  expiration  is  enfeebled.  The  heart  and  circulation  is  dis- 
turbed ;  there  is  either  a  flushing  of  the  face,  or  a  deadly  pallor; 
with  a  cold  sweat,  a  creeping  action  that  lifts  the  hair.  All 
parts  feel  the  depressing  influence. 

Increased  tension,  is  shown  in  the  stare  of  the  eye,  the  rais- 
ing of  the  scalp,  the  inflation  of  the  nostrils,  the  shrill  cry,  the 
violent  movements  of  protection  or  flight.  It  is  an  exaggerated 
fixing  of  the  attention,  and  an  intense  occupation  of  the 
thoughts  in  the  same  exclusive  direction.  Whatever  move- 


ACTING    OF  THE   PASSIONS.  299 

ments  of  expression,  or  of  volition,  are  suggested  by  these 
thoughts,  have  a  similar  intensity.  Such  a  physical  condition 
is  accompanied  with  great  depression.  The  prostration  affects 
the  sensitive  organic  powers ;  the  increase  of  energy  is  in  the 
movements,  which  have  lesser  sensibility. 

Mentally,  terror  is  a  form  of  massive  pain.  The  depression  of 
severe  fright  is  for  the  time,  overwhelming.  It  is  a  form  of  formi- 
dable suffering.  It  is  accompanied  with  great  excitement. 

By  mimicking  the  looks  of  angry,  frightened,  or  daring 
men,  the  mind  will  turn  to  the  passion  imitated. 

Darkness  has  a  great  effect  on  the  passions,  in  producing  the 
idea  of  the  sublime.  At  night  the  greater  the  illumination,  the 
grander.  In  historical  ideas,  gay  or  gaudy  drapery  is  never 
happy ;  but  sad,  as  black,  brown,  or  deep  purple,  should  be 
used.  The  awful  striking  of  a  great  clock  in  the  silence  of  the 
night.  Everything  great  by  its  quantity  must  necessarily  be 
one.  simple,  entire. 

Intoxication. — In  acting  intoxication,  amuse  but  retain  re- 
spect. Eelaxation  of  limb  and  face.  Not  humorous  but  real. 
One  drunk  tries  to  appear  sober,  tries  not  to  reel,  or  to  lift  the 
legs,  or  grimace.  His  mouth  merely  lacks  tone  and  his  whole 
strength  is  used  to  command  motion. 

Drunkenness. — The  eye  heavy  as  if  falling  asleep  with  forci- 
ble elevation  of  brow  to  counteract ;  resisting  half  unconsciously. 
Puzzled  appearance.  Relax  lower  part  of  face,  with  slight  par- 
alytic obliquity  of  mouth.  Degraded  expression. 

Laughter. — Full  breath  thrown  out  in  jets. 

In  the  higher,  nobler  passions,  the  upper  lip. nostrils  and  brows 
are  most  effective  ;  the  angle  of  the  mouth  the  next  important. 

Suffocation. — A  sudden,  wild  energy  of  every  feature.  Con- 
tractions of  throat,  with  gasps  and  spasmodic  twitchings  of  the 
face.  Heaving  chest  and  shoulders.  The  hands  stretch  and 
catch  like  a  drowning  man.  There  is  an  oppressive,  intolerable 
sensation  at  heart.  It  seems  like  the  utmost  exertion.  The 
face  goes  beyond  the  voice  and  increases  the  effect  of  vocality. 
The  eye  is  the  chief  feature. 

Fainting,  Death. — The  eye  turns  up,  under. 

The  Eye. — In  acting    the    passions    the    eye   is   the    most 


300  ACTING    AND    ORATORY. 

expressive  organ.  It  is  the  eye  of  his  opponent  the  swordsman 
watches.  It  is  the  eye  that  the  gambler  follows  when  a  victim 
has  staked  his  all  at  play.  It  is  the  eye  of  the  actor  we  DDK- 
even  in  his  silence  on  the  stage.  Its  cultivation  for  effective 
use  is  worth  perhaps  more  than  that  of  gesture  or  attitude.  It 
may  be  nearly  closed,  or  widely  opened  ;  or  it  may  Hash  or  roll, 
and  in  a  multitude  of  ways  be  a  potent  means  of  powerful  ex- 
pression. 

Acting  has  an  amazing  variety  which  depends  on  the  per- 
former. 

Unimpassioned  acting, — tones  full,  distinct,  level,  properly 
modulated,  mct/itn/i-  notes. 

E.i'damatory. — Grief,  rapture,  violence  of  rage,  climaxes  of 
surprise.  ///>/»' r  notes. 

Passages  of  gloomy  rage,  despair,  revenge,  lower  not/'*. 

Emphasis  must  come  from  a  knowledge  of  author  and  from 
a  refined  ear,  neither  stiff  nor  mechanical. 

Stage  deportment  must  be  free  and  void  of  all  affectation. 
It  is  not  possible  to  act  with  grace  except  by  forgetting  audience. 
The  motion,  air,  step  and  gesture,  all  betray  restraint  through 
fear  of  being  ///-received  ;  or  being  in  the  presence  of  those  ap- 
proving, gives  affectation  of  that  pleasure  in  the  carriage. 
Some  never  discomposed  even  if  a  scene  should  fall. 

It  is  not  enough  to  know  every  beauty  in  the  part,  but  the 
exact  manner  to  represent  them.  Not  enough  to  know  how  to 
raise  the  passions,  but  by  just  rules  to  give  the  degree,  circum- 
stances and  nature,  neither  above  nor  below.  Not  execute 
graces  but  create  them. 

A  mere  start,  a  pause,  a  gesture,  a  sudden,  but  delicate 
transition  of  passion  is  enough  sometimes.  A  voice  scarcely 
above  a  whisper,  a  glance,  or  quick  motion,  the  minutest  dis- 
play of  feature,  can  be  as  full  of  meaning  as  the  most  clamorous 
passion. 

Acting  after  all,  is  not  reality,  but  the  most  cultured  sem- 
blance, and  even  then  restrained. 


TRAGEDY. 


PART   V. 


ACTING. 

first  requisite  to  acting  well  is  never  to  attempt  to  imi- 
JL  tate  a  passion  till  the  conception  is  so  strong  as  to  appear 
perfectly  natural  and  undesigned.  This  is  not  difficult,  but 
easy  and  delightful.  When  it  is  really  started  in  the  mind  it 
will  instantly  appear  in  the  face  and  on  the  muscles  of  the  body, 
and  also  affect  the  tones  of  the  voice. 

An  excellent  means  to  assist  the  mind  in  conceiving  a  part 
is  a  diligent  use  of  the  pen.  Indeed  one  can  hardly  use  it  too 
much  ;  to  write  out  the  entire  character,  cues  and  all ;  cannot 
write  it  too  often.  It  leads  to  system  of  style,  helps  analysis 
of  the  character,  makes  clearer  the  meaning.  It  gives  sharp- 
ness, aids  the  whole  constructive  faculty.  When  you  do  this 
write  for  the  ear  as  well  as  the  eye ;  it  gives  a  grasp  and  pre- 
vents fumbling  over  the  ideas  of  an  author.  It  arrests  thoughts 
and  makes  them  shine  with  a  sun-like  splendor  on  the  intellect 
and  heart.  By  writing  understandingly,  the  mind  can  be  kept 
in  a  state  of  habitual  activity,  alertness,  and  prolrfic  energy. 
By  such  means  the  mind  should  always  be  braced  to  the  best 
condition  for  the  grandest  service.  It  is  only  through  study ; — 
mere  instinct  may  prove  ruinous.  This  lacking,  or  being  neg- 
lected, from  a  desire  to  preserve  originality,  may  be  the  very 
means  of  losing  it. 

The  diligence  of  actors  should  be  at  least  as  emphatic  as 
that  of  perhaps  their  very  authors.  "  Tennyson's  "  Come  into 
the  garden,  Maud,"  was  written  over  more  than  fifty  times  be- 
fore publication.  The  first  copy  of  "  Locksley  Hall "  was  written 
in  two  days,  but  the  most  of  six  weeks  for  eight  hours  a  day 


304  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

were  spent  in  re-writing  and  improving  it.  Moore  thought 
he  did  well  if  he  composed  seventy  lines  of  "Lalla  Rookh"  in  a 
week.  Buffon's  "  Studies  of  Nature "  cost  fifty  years  of  his 
life,  and  he  copied  the  MSS.  eighteen  times  before  he  was  satis- 
fied. In  some  instances  he  would  alter  sentences  twenty  times  ; 
and  once  spent  fourteen  hours  in  finding  the  word  he  needed. 

Actors  of  celebrity  spend  years  sometimes  on  a  new  character 
before  giving  it  to  the  public.  With  them  it  is  every  word, 
sentence,  phrase,  written  out  in  MSS.  again  and  again,  studied, 
meditated  and  practiced  over  and  over,  till  the  part  sits  like  a 
garment  upon  them. 

Aaron  Hill  was  an  admirable  teacher  of  the  art.  He  taught 
Mrs.  Gibber.  He  interlined  her  part  with  a  kind  of  commen- 
tary upon  it ;  he  marked  every  accent  and  emphasis  ;  every 
look,  action,  and  the  general  deportment  proper  to  the  character, 
in  all  its  different  situations,  he  critically  pointed  out.  She  ul- 
timately became  one  of  England's  best  actresses.  He  was  author 
of  the  "Art  of  Acting."  He  once  wrote  a  letter  to  a  beautiful 
actress,  of  which  the  following  is  a  portion.  "Though  your 
action,  when  pleading  for  life,  was  beautifully  just,  it  was  not 
strong  enough,  nor  so  ivild  and  distracted  as  it  ought  to  have 
been  ;  throw  yourself  with  an  unreserved  boldness  and  freedom, 
into  the  liveliest  attitudes  of  distress,  etc." 

In  some  of  his  letters  he  complained  of  the  vanity,  ignorance 
and  self-sufficiency  of  the  players. 

It  is  thus  at  all  times,  for  although  possessed  of  undoubted 
abilities,  some  never  amount  to  more  than  clever  amateurs,  es- 
pecially if  they  begin  too  high  on  the  ladder,  and  think  more  of 
themselves  than  their  acting ;  they  exercise  their  profession 
capriciously,  with  their  hearts  never  in  it,  except  so  far  as  it 
ministers  to  their  vanity. 

Even  in  learning  from  others,  it  is  one  thing  to  copy  ser- 
vilely and  superficially,  but  quite  another  to  imitate  freely  and 
profoundly.  The  copyist  mistakes  defects  for  excellences,  al- 
lows little  or  nothing  for  circumstances,  and  assumes  the  form 
without  being  animated  by  the  soul  of  the  master.  Most 
players  are  mere  copyists — we  have  few  originals.  The  imitator 
differs  in  following  not  so  much  the  production  as  the  method 


ACTING.  305 

or  principles.  It  is  not  to  imitate  in  all,  but  in  many  respects. 
It  is  to  take  many  models,  not  one  to  the  exclusion  of  others. 
Elegance  and  beauty  even  are  not  indispensable,  but  may  be 
positive  blemishes  if  they  detract  from  simplicity  and  force. 
It  is  oneself,  however,  and  not  another.  It  is  to  respect  one's 
peculiarities,  and  maintain  independence,  and  other  features 
will  take  care  of  themselves. 

A  deep  sympathy  is  required  for  any  art,  and  the  chief  dif- 
ference between  men  is  their  indifference  of  impressional 
ability.  In  players,  vanity  cripples  art  at  every  step.  The 
display  of  self  by  part ;  they  do  not  raise  part  by  sinking  self  in 
it,  which  is  art. 

Copy  is  only  the  trick  of  the  art;  imitation  is  quality, 
poetry,  artistic  finish. 

Some  however  seize  merely  the  outward  form,  instead  of  the 
rich  abundance  of  fancy  and  imagery — such  tend  to  stiffness 
and  formality,  and  hold  neglect  of  study  as  the  most  decisive 
proofs  of  genius. 

A  person  may  burn  to  express  a  feeling  and  not  know  how ; 
with  such  it  is  a  matter  of  time  and  adaptability. 

For  the  atmospheric  or  aerial  element,  nothing  can  make 
amends,  and  this  power  can  be  cultivated  to  a  wonderful  extent. 
One  must  have  a  great  soul  and  teach  it  wings  to  be  effective. 
One  may  have  talent,  though  neither  extensive  in  scope  nor 
remarkable  in  character.  Acting  is  inner  life  externalized — 
ecstatic  feeling  the  guide,  joy  the  victory. 

Some  think  training  destructive  of  originality ;  whereas  a 
right  training  forms  a  desirable  individuality.  It  is  only  by  a 
methodical  and  thorough  training  that  one  can  discover  what 
are  the  highest  actualities  of  his  gifts.  Many  by  right  means 
might  rise,  that  fall  into  obscurity  from  lack  of  knowledge,  and 
encouragement  derived  from  a  true  method.  Art  will  almost 
alone  answer  the  purpose  of  nature  and  yet  it  may  be  said  that 
rules  and  art  have  little  to  do  in  forming  a  great  player ;  for, 
what  he  is,  he  must  be  from  nature ;  but  every  one  is  formed 
by  rules  or  imitation.  Garrick  formed  himself  by  study,  and 
others  before  him  by  copying  those  preceding  them.  He  culti- 
vated with  an  indefatigable  industry  his  natural  talents  and 


306  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

left  nothing  to  impulse.  It  was  all  by  rules.  Acting  has  an 
appearance  of  truth,  but  the  consummate  artifice  of  the  actor 
conceals  the  art  of  it ;  and  in  general  there  is  most  art  where 
the  least  is  seen. 

Art  has  the  advantage  over  nature  of  not  sharing  the  fetters. 
Thus  the  ordinary  uncultivated  man  will  disgrace  the  noblest 
material,  while  a  refined  spirit  will  ennoble  the  commonest. 

One  must  create,  by  penetrating  into  the  depth  of  the  soul, 
a  spiritually  organic  whole,  to  seem  natural  and  supernatural ; 
must  strive  after  artistic  truth  ;  not  follow  blind  instinct  after 
an  appearance  of  naturalness.  Such  is  merely  mechanical. 
Art  is  like  nature,  boundless.  It  is  not,  however,  all  imaginative 
lightness  ;  soft,  wavy,  without  character ;  indifferent  graceful- 
ness ;  for  then  it  is  little  more  than  nullity.  Neither  is  one  to 
be  a  miniaturist,  a  dot  and  point  maker,  nor  always  like  artists 
sketchy  and  fanciful, — for  true  art  is  both  serious  and  sportive 
by  contrast. 

Genius  ungoverned  and  undirected  gives  unexpected  strokes 
that  astonish  only  to  disgust.  It  must  be  the  natural  power 
but  regulated  by  judgment  that  conies  from  rules  and  method. 
It  is  only  under  such  conditions  that  we  can  admire. 

Nature  will  carry  a  man  a  great  way,  but  she  may  carry  him 
too  far  out  of  his  road,  and  nothing  is  more  contemptible  than 
fury  out  of  season.  It  is  only  magnificent  when  dignified  by 
reason.  It  must  be  neither  insipidity  nor  extravagance. 

True  genius  works  much  because  it  works  easily ;  it  also 
works  well  because  it  works  wisely. 

Great  actors  seem  to  have  a  genius  clothed  in  thunder  ;  a 
mind  that  wields  the  lightning  and  sunbeams  of  heaven,  and 
they  rush  fearlessly  where  others  tremble  to  approach. 

Some  say  avoid  all  artificiality,  and  be  natural  and  easy.  It 
is  cultivation  which  gives  this  very  naturalness  desired. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  success  depends  upon  a  deep  con- 
viction of  reality  and  the  absolute  certainty  of  every  word  uttered. 
The  burning  comes  before  shining  ;  ardor  of  mind  is  the  light  of 
instruction.  But  this  ardor  can  be  tempered  even  to  repose. 
It  is  nature  but  as  having  passed  through  a  susceptible  and 
amiable  mind  to  render  it  agreeable.  Novelty  is  only  conceit. 


ACTING.  307 

Angelo  learned  of  inferiors  to  fresco  and  then  did  his  own 
work  and  theirs  over,  and  vastly  improved  the  whole.  It  was 
with  him  the  higher  law,  interpretation  ;  he  simply  followed  the 
secondary,,  imitation,  until  he  had  learned  the  way.  The  same 
with  acting. 

If,  sometimes,  even  conception  be  just  acting  may  fail  from 
lack  of  voice  and  bearing,  and  still  more,  feeling.  When  great 
effects  are  seen  to  be  produced  by  the  natural  language  of  emo- 
tion, the  intelligent  actor  loses  his  confidence  in  rant,  and  con- 
ventional expression,  too  often  accepted  on  the  stage  in  lieu  of 
creative  power.  It  is  this  which  allows  a  strong  feeling  to  ex- 
press itself  through  its  natural  signs.  The  genuine  artist  does 
not  merely  curl  the  lips,  wrinkle  his  brows,  and  "  take  the 
stage,"  never  done  off  the  stage,  but  gives  genuine  expression 
which  comes  from  rigorous  training. 

The  great  difficulty  in  elocution  is  to  be  slow,  not  to  seem 
slow.  To  speak  the  phrases  with  suqh  distinctness,  and  such 
management  of  the  breath,  that  each  shall  tell,  yet  due  propor- 
tion be  maintained.  Hurry  destroys  the  effect ;  and  actors 
hurry  because  they  dread,  and  justly,  the  heaviness  of  a  slow 
utterance.  Let  them  study  great  speakers,  and  they  will  find 
that  in  passages  which  seem  rapid  there  is  a  measured  rhythm, 
that  in  the  most  passionate  there  is  a  strict  regard  to  time. 
Resistent  flexibility  is  the  perfection  of  elocution. 

In  German  theatres  the  actors  are  thoroughly  trained ;  they 
know  the  principles  of  their  art ;  a  very  different  thing  from 
knowing  "the  business."  They  pay  laudable  attention  to  one 
supremely  important  point,  namely  elocution.  They  understand 
the  mysterious  charm  which  lies  in  rhythm,  and  have  mastered 
its  music.  They  can  manage  the  cadences  and  emphases  so  as 
to  be  at  once  perfectly  easy,  natural,  yet  incisive  and  effective. 
On  their  stage  it  is  the  refinement  of  elocution — a  study. 

It  is  an  invariable  characteristic  of  good  actors  that  they 
never  seem  to  be  conscious  of  the  audience,  but  always  absorbed 
in  the  world  of  which  they  represent  a  part.  Bad  actors  can- 
not so  forget  themselves. 

An  actor's  tones  and  looks  are  his  finest  gestures. 

Nature  looks  like  affectation,  and  the  highest  art  is  the  most 


308  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

like  nature.  A  thoroughly  inartificial  actor  would  be  a  mere 
mummy,  just  as  in  the  Greek  theatre  a  man  in  his  natural  face 
would  have  seemed  mean  and  insignificant  to  the  spectators 
accustomed  to  fixed  types  of  heroic  size  and  set  intention. 
"  Truth  to  nature"  is  art  that  has  been  most  profoundly 
studied  and  concealment  most  perfectly  attained.  The  best  art 
is  the  most  careful  training.  It  stimulates  self-forge tfulness 
by  the  very  perfection  of  its  self-control  ;  while  untrained  na- 
ture is  self-assertion  founded  on  the  imperious  consciousness  of 
personality. 

If  man  were  solely  a  being  of  abstract  reason,  the  exercise  of 
thought  would  be  sufficient  to  his  happiness.  But  he  has  also 
heart  and  imagination  which  demand  gratification.  Both 
clamor  for  more  than  they  ever  obtain.  This  unfulfilled  wish 
constitutes  their  ideal,  or  that  subtile  aspiration  of  the  soul 
which  is  the  essence  of  noble  art.  This  it  is  which  gives  a  halo 
to  the  beauty  it  evokes  ;  which  fires  the  sentiments  and  exalts 
the  intellect,  imparting  an  undefinable  joy  as  the  object  re- 
sponds to  our  amorous  appeal,  a  language  felt  rather  than 
heard.  No  one  need  expect  to  comprehend  art  in  its  ultimate 
sense,  unless  he  is  capable  of  receiving  its  impressions  as  spon- 
taneously and  supersensuously  as  he  would  those  of  love  ;  for 
art  is  first  passion,  then  conviction.  Whence  its  power  is  not  to 
be  ciphered.  Ends,  not  means,  it  affirms.  Unless  we  appre- 
hend the  spiritual  element,  our  satisfaction  must  limit  itself  to 
its  technical  and  material  functions. 

A  man  must  possess  originality  of  mind,  and  thought  as  well 
as  sweetness  of  character  who  makes  an  impression  on  the  time 
in  which  he  lives. 

One  may  possess  emotional,  creative  power  in  the  use  of  the 
methods  of  dramatic  art ;  he  may  be  versatile  and  good  in  many 
lines  and  not  stop  short  of  the  presentation  of  characters  ;  he 
may  make  them  clearly  visible  and  inform  them  with  vitality  : 
but,  after  all,  such  a  one  may  reach  his  results  through  the 
heart  than  through  the  intellect.  He  may  not  be  therefore,  a 
deep  analyst,  nor  an  inveterate  student,  nor  a  worker  in  the 
mosaic  of  details.  It  would  be  better  for  him,  doubtless,  as  an 
actor,  being  what  he  is,  if  he  had  these  attributes  besides,  other- 


ACTING,  309 

wise  it  is  a  matter  of  impulse.  A  person  may  be  right,  may  be  a 
genius,  and  yet  not  cultivatedly  become  great. 

The  rarity  of  fine  acting  depends  on  the  difficulty  there  is  in 
being  so  deeply  moved  that  the  emotion  shall  spontaneously 
express  itself  in  symbols  universally  intelligible,  and  yet  so  calm 
as  to  be  perfect  master  of  effects.  To  preserve  this  medium  by 
a  tempered  spirit  is  of  all  the  master  strokes  of  an  actor  the 
most  difficult  to  reach.  To  be  loud  and  vehement  is  the  re- 
source of  actors  who  have  no  faculty. 

In  endeavoring  to  express  emotions,  he  will  try  tones,  ges- 
tures, accelerating  and  retarding  the  rhythm  ;  and  during  this 
tentative  process  his  discretion  will  retain  the  most  effective. 

It  is  because  few  actors  are  sufficiently  reflective  that  good 
acting  is  so  rare ;  and  the  tameness  of  those  who  are  reflective 
but  not  passionate,  brings  discredit  on  reflection. 

If  an  actor  really  feel,  he  cannot  act ;  but  he  cannot  act 
unless  he  feel.  The  secret  is  Voptique  du  theatre.  It  is  not 
real  feeling,  it  is  rather  symbolical.  The  actor  feigns  and  we 
know  that  he  is  feigning.  He  must  be  master  of  himself.  He 
is  representing  fiction,  which  is  to  move  us  as  a  fiction  and  not 
to  lacerate  our  feelings,  but  art  pain  is  to  be  pleasurable.  It  is 
mimetic,  not  real  life  we  see.  The  actor  can  at  times  when 
assailed  by  real  griefs  turn  his  gaze  inward  and  study  himself 
so  as  to  afterwards  interpret  them  fictionally  as  may  happen. 
His  passion  must  be  ideal — sympathetic,  not  personal.  Every- 
thing however  must  be  studied  beforehand  ;  meditated  upon 
and  regulated  in  detail.  Natural  expression  but  sublimated, 
poetic,  elevated,  purified  from  imperfections  of  daily  speech. 
Measured,  musical,  typical,  pictorial,  but  not  bombastic  ;  not 
simply  natural,  but  vivid  presentation  of  life. 

From  Alger's  Life  of  Edwin  Forrest. 

The  subject-matter  of  the  drama,  understood  in  its  full 
dignity,  is  nothing  less  than  the  science  of  human  nature  and 
the  art  of  commanding  its  manifestations. 

The  great  ones  of  earth  have  ever  drawn  their  volitions  from 
such  an  unsounded  reservoir  of  power ;  have  such  latent  resources 
of  intuition,  can  strike  such  all-staggering  blows,  that  common 


310  ACTING  AND   ORATORY. 

men,  appalled  before  their  mysteriousness,  instinctively  revere 
and  obey.  In  the  primeval  time  such  men  loomed  with  the 
overshadowing  port  of  deities  and  were  worshipped  as  avatars 
from  a  higher  world.  Such  a  one  has  a  sphere  so  dense  and 
vast  that  the  lesser  spheres  of  those  around  give  way  on  contact 
with  his  firmer  and  weightier  gravitation.  He  is  treated  as  a 
natural  king.  He  carries  his  royal  credentials  in  the  intrinsic 
rank  of  his  organism.  There  is  in  his  nervous  system,  resulting 
from  the  free  connection  and  uninterrupted  interplay  of  all  its 
parts,  a  centralized  unity,  a  slowly  swaying  equilibrium,  which 
fills  him  with  the  sense  of  a  saturating  drench  of  power.  His 
consciousness  seems  to  float  on  his  surcharged  ganglia  in  an  in- 
toxicating dreaminess  of  balanced  force,  which,  by  the  transcend- 
ent fearlessness  and  endurance  it  imparts,  lifts  him  out  of  the 
category  of  common  men.  The  dynamic  charge  in  his  nervous 
centres  is  so  deep  and  intense  that  it  produces  a  chronic  exalta- 
tion above  fear  into  complacency,  and  raises  him  towards  the 
eternal  ether,  among  the  topmost  heads  of  our  race.  This  high 
gift,  this  unimpartable  superiority,  is  a  secret  safely  veiled  from 
vulgar  eyes.  Fine  spirits  recognize  its  occult  signals  in  the  per- 
vasive rhythm  of  the  spinal  cord,  the  steadiness  of  the  eye,  the 
enormous  potency  of  function,  the  willowy  massiveness  of  bear- 
ing, and  a  certain  mystic  languor  whose  sleeping  surface  can 
with  swift  and  equal  ease  emit  the  soft  gleams  of  love  to  delight 
or  flash  the  forked  bolts  to  destroy.  This  gift,  as  terrible  as 
charming,  varies  with  the  temperament  and  habits  of  its  posses- 
sor. Where  the  spell  of  this  supernal  inspiration  has  been  in- 
breathed, unless  it  be  accompanied  by  noble  employment  and 
gratified  affection,  either  the  mind  topples  into  delirium  and 
imbecility,  or  the  temptation  to  drunkenness  is  irresistible. 

The  atlantean  majesty  of  such  seems  self-commanded  in 
their  immense  stability.  Their  slowness  of  action  suggests  to 
the  consciousness  an  imaginative  apprehension  of  immense 
spaces  and  magnitudes  with  a  corresponding  dilation  of  passion 
and  power.  With  great  actors,  when  so  gifted,  their  attitudes 
and  gestures  cast  angles  whose  lines  appear,  as  the  imagination 
follows  them,  to  reach  to  elemental  distances.  And  it  is  the 
perception  or  vague  feeling  of  such  things  as  these  that  mag- 


ACTING. 

netizes  a  spell-bound  auditory  as  they  gaze.  The  organic  foun- 
dation for  this  exceptional  power  is  the  unification  of  the  nerv- 
ous system  by  the  exact  correlation  and  open  communication  of 
all  its  scattered  batteries.  This  heightens  the  force  of  each 
point  by  its  sympathetic  reinforcement  with  all  points.  The 
focal  equilibrium  that  results  is  the  condition  of  an  immovable 
self-possession.  This  is  an  attainment  much  more  common 
once  than  it  is  in  our  day  of  external  absorption  and  frittering 
anxieties.  Its  signs,  the  pathetic  and  sublime  indications  of  this 
transfused  unity,  are  visible  in  the  immortal  masterpieces  of 
antique  art.  It  is  now  excessively  rare.  Most  of  men  are  but 
as  collections  of  fragments  pieced  together,  so  full  of  strictures 
and  contractions  that  no  vibratory  impact  or  undulation  can 
circulate  freely  in  us.  The  few  have  this  open  and  poised  unity 
in  such  a  degree  that  when  at  ease  each  sways  on  his  centre  like 
a  mountain  on  a  pivot,  and  when  volition  puts  rigidity  into  his 
muscles  the  centre  is  solidaire  with  the  periphery.  It  is  the 
actor's  highest  privilege  when  he  can  learn  the  law  for  exalting 
his  human  organism  to  its  greatest  perfection — a  secret  which 
belongs  to  the  complete  training  of  a  dramatic  artist  and  the 
fascination  with  which  it  invests  him  in  the  eyes  of  sensibility. 

The  dramatic  art,  based  on  the  science  of  human  nature  in 
the  revelation  of  its  inner  states  through  outer  signs,  is  the  ex- 
ercise of  that  power  whereby  man  can  indefinitely  multiply  his 
personality  and  life,  by  identifying  himself  with  others,  or  others 
with  himself,  by  divesting  himself  of  himself,  and  entering  into 
the  characters,  situations,  and  experiences  of  those  whom  he 
beholds,  or  reads  of,  or  creatively  imagines. 

One  deeply  read  in  all  literatures  and  trained  to  the  facile 
reproduction  of  every  mode  of  thought  and  action,  traverses  all 
races  and  ages,  reading  their  passions,  thus  enlarging  his  own 
soul  to  the  dimensions  of  collective  humanity  and  enriching 
himself  with  its  accumulated  possessions.  The  first  condition 
of  truly  profound  and  vital  acting  is  to  have  the  knowledge,  the 
liberty,  the  spiritual  energy  and  skill,  to  solve  this  inner  side  of 
the  problem  by  reconstructing  in  the  mind  and  heart  the  modes 
of  character,  passion  and  conduct  which  are  to  be  represented. 
They  must  be  mastered  and  made  one's  own  before  they  can  be 


312  ACTING  AND   ORATORY. 

intelligently  exhibited.  It  is  the  part  of  a  charlatan  to  content 
himself  with  merely  detecting  and  imitating  the  outer  signs. 
The  greatest  actor  is  the  one  who  is  the  most  perfect  master 
of  all  the  signs  of  the  inner  states  of  men,  and  can  in  his  own 
person  exhibit  those  signs  with  the  most  vivid  power.  He  must 
have,  to  be  completely  equipped  for  his  work,  a  mind  and  a 
body  whose  parallel  faculties  and  organs  are  energetic  and  har- 
monic, every  muscle  of  the  one  so  liberated  and  elastic,  every 
other  power  of  the  other  so  freed  and  connected,  that  they  can 
act  either  singly  or  in  varied  combination  with  others  or  with 
the  whole,  with  easy  precision  and  vigor.  The  absence  of  preju- 
dices and  strictures,  contracting  ignorance  and  hate,  and  the 
presence  of  disinterested  wisdom  and  openness,  a  trained  intui- 
tive sensibility,  will  put  all  states  of  all  souls  in  his  possession 
by  spontaneous  interpretation  of  their  signals.  Such  an  actor, 
perfected  in  his  own  being  and  crowned  with  the  trophies  of 
human  culture  in  every  department,  is  fitted  to  pass  through 
all  the  grades  and  ranges  of  society,  reflecting  everything,  sub- 
jected to  nothing,  the  sovereign  of  mankind. 

What  other  people  do  in  a  piecemeal,  bungling  manner,  with- 
out clear  purpose  or  method,  the  professional  actor  does  with 
full  consciousness  and  system,  and  exhibits  for  the  pleasure  and 
edification  of  the  observers. 

The  true  actor  should  be  a  great  observer  of  persons  and 
critically  watch  them  in  public  places.  He  should  mentally 
imitate  and  reproduce  them,  and  in  this  manner  he  can  become 
skilled. 

Those  artists  who  have  plastic  nervous  systems  copiously 
furnished  with  force,  and  who  are  eager  to  improve,  take  pos- 
session of  one  another's  knowledge  and  accomplishments  with 
marvelous  celerity.  By  intuition  and  instinct  they  seem  to 
reflect  their  contents  and  transmit  their  habitudes  with  mutual 
appropriation.  In  this  unpurposed  but  saturating  school  of  real 
life  what  the  superior  knows  and  does  passes  into  the  sympa- 
thetic observer  by  a  sort  of  contagion.  Those  whose  nerves  are 
capable  of  the  same  kinds  and  rates  of  vibration  play  into  each 
other  and  are  attuned  together,  as  the  sounding  string  of  one 
musical  instrument  propagates  its  pulses  through  the  air  and 


ACTING.  313 

awakens  a  harmonic  sound  in  the  corresponding  string  of  an- 
other instrument.  This  is  the  scientific  basis  of  what  is  loosely 
called  human  magnetism,  and  it  is  a  factor  of  incomparable  im- 
port in  the  problem  of  human  life. 

An  actor  needs  above  all  things  an  easy  precision  of  move- 
ment, and  a  suavity  of  demeanor.  The  military  art,  on  the 
whole,  is  perhaps  the  richest  in  its  power,  and  the  most  exact 
in  its  methods,  of  all  the  disciplines.  Its  drill  or  an  equivalent 
faithfully  applied,  nourishes  the  habit  of  obedience,  and  the 
faculty  of  command  regulates  and  refines  the  behavior,  lifts  the 
head,  throws  back  the  shoulders,  brings  out  the  chest,  deepens 
the  breathing,  frees  the  circulation,  and  through  its  marching 
time  beat  exalts  the  rank  of  the  organism  by  coordinating  its 
functions  in  a  spirit  of  rhythm.  It  changes  the  contracted  and 
fixed  action  of  the  muscles  for  an  action  flowing  over  the 
shoulders  and  hips  and  drawing  on  the  spinal  column  instead 
of  the  brain.  And  this  is  a  mental  economy  much  needed  in 
these  days  of  deficient  vital  action.  Khythmic  movements,  reg- 
ulated by  will  until  they  become  automatic,  free  the  muscles 
and  joints,  and  give  the  organism  a  liberal  grace,  a  generous 
openness,  and  ease  of  bearing. 

Men  and  women  have  arms  long  enough  to  reach  the  stars 
if  they  will  only  put  them  out.  No  man  happens  to  succeed. 
Conceit  kills  many  a  man  on  the  high  road  to  mastery.  Com- 
plaining people  do  not  often  master  the  situation.  Have  a 
great  belief.  The  greatest  study  and  labor  with  the  greatest 
assiduity,  patience  and  elaboration.  Difficulty  is  sometimes 
better  than  ease.  Necessity  teaches  and  compels.  Great  efforts 
on  the  stage  only  by  great  preparation,  profound  and  untiring 
application.  Never  by  halves.  Not  mere  energetic  assertion 
but  vast  ideas  and  a  mysterious  force.  Mere  bearing,  acting  of 
the  highest  order.  Effects  should  be  part  of  the  whole  of  its 
coloring  and  be  li  led  up  to."  Merely  the  whole  manner  of  one 
who  has  committed  murder  will  not  appear  as  Macbeth,  but 
he  must  have  imagination,  elevation  of  mind,  to  be  a  royal  mur- 
derer. Simply  to  be  in  earnest,  noisy,  and  in  received  tone,  or 
a  strange  one  of  our  own,  with  all  the  tricks  of  the  profession, 


314  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

even  with  suitable  attitudes,  features  wrung  into  expression,  is 
fine,  but  common.  It  is  a  drilled  exercise  without  comprehen- 
sion ;  one  must  study  accurately  the  whole  situation  and  feel  as 
the  only  way.  There  are  a  thousand  delicate  shades  ;  with 
pauses  to  prevent  unmeaning  gabble  ;  analysis  ;  and  nothing  to 
chance,  all  to  reason.  The  greatest  fault  is  laboriousness  and 
precision. 

Without  a  sympathetic  voice  no  acting  can  be  effective. 
The  tones  need  not  be  musical  but  they  must  have  a  penetra- 
ting, vibrating  quality. 

All  but  great  actors  are  redundant  in  gesticulation ;  not 
simply  overdoing  the  significant,  but  unable  to  repress  insig- 
nificant movements. 

If  actors  will  study  fine  models  they  will  learn  that  gestures, 
to  be  effective,  must  be  significant  by  being  rare. 

Most  acting  is  so  hopelessly  conventional  in  its  character. 
Even  in  acting  the  disagreeable  there  should  be  art  enough  to 
make  it  agreeable.  To  be  natural  in  the  ordinary  way,  is  what 
the  old  French  actor  condemned,  when  he  said  of  one  of  his 
own  performances  :  •'*  I  was  just  as  I  should  have  been  at  home. 
I  was  therefore  wrong.  1  forgot  the  perspective  of  the  theatre." 
Another  celebrated  actor  once  said — "If  I  were  to  speak  twice 
as  loud  I  should  not  be  heard  half  as  well."  "With  a  strong 
voice  it  is  only  necessary  to  speak  slowly  and  well  sustained. 

Still  another  great  actor  was  too  ill  to  feel  able  to  perform 
on  a  certain  occasion,  and  the  theatre  was  filled  to  overflowing. 
He  had  even  dressed  for  the  part  and  at  the  last  hour  informed 
the  manager  of  his  inability.  The  manager  was  in  despair  fear- 
ing the  displeasure  of  an  excited  multitude.  But,  after  a  pro- 
longed consultation  it  was  finally  agreed  upon  that  the  manager 
should  ask  the  sympathies  of  the  people  towards  one  so  indis- 
posed, and  state  to  them  that  he  preferred  to  act  that  night 
than  altogether  disappoint  his  friends.  In  a  suppressed  style, 
unlike  anything  he  had  ever  attempted,  he  repeated  his  role  and 
to  his  surprise  he  never  acted  better.  From  this  he  learned  a 
lesson,  and  from  that  time  after  he  completely  changed  his 
style  in  every  character. 


ACTING.  315 

An  actor  has  no  right  to  trifle  with  the  least  important 
character ;  whatever  is  good  enough  to  play  is  good  enough  to 
play  well.  Without  study,  however,  one  can  do  nothing.  He 
will  simply  be  a  nightly  drudge. 

Emphasis  and  pause  are  the  supreme  difficulties.  They  are 
rarely  managed  by  those  who  read  blank  verse,  even  in  a  room, 
and  on  the  stage  the  difficulty  is  greater.  It  is  not  thought  and 
feeling  with  all  the  acuteness  and  fervor  of  a  bright  mind  and 
generous  heart  alone,  but  they  must  be  put  into  that  form  of 
physical  expression  which  the  stage  demands.  It  is  not  the  in- 
trospective but  the  expressive,  which  comes  from  habit.  Soul 
is  of  no  manner  of  use  without  a  manifesting  body  and  a  declar- 
ing style.  Not  the  preservation  of  tradition,  but  the  imitation 
of  nature. 

It  is  the  peculiarity  of  the  fine  strain  of  art  that  its  charm  is 
elusive ;  a  charm  felt  rather  than  perceived  ;  easy  to  recognize 
but  difficult  to  define. 

True  acting  is  animated  by  this  vital  quality — an  integral 
power  and  an  interior  grace  ;  sympathetic  to  the  emotions,  but 
coy  to  the  mind.  It  is  entirely  sincere ;  it  is  urged  by  a  clear, 
firm,  propulsive  purpose  ;  it  is  original  in  character ;  and  it  is 
compact  and  pointed  in  style.  The  power  that  it  exercises  to 
please  and  captivate,  may  doubtless,  be  ascribed  to  temperament. 

An  artist  leaves  nothing  to  chance  ;  and  so  the  first  im- 
plications of  his  acting  are  deep  feeling  and  strong  thought. 
There  is  no  heedless  hit-or-miss  quality  in  such  art.  There  is 
neither  hesitation,  nor  uncertainty,  nor  excess,  nor  error.  The 
spectator  is  not  wearied  by  inefficiency  nor  irritated  by  vain  pre- 
tension. For  the  full  spring  of  victory  in  his  acting,  therefore, 
we  are  to  look  to  the  perfect  intellectual  government  which  the 
actor  possesses  over  his  own  powers  ;  to  his  complete  understand- 
ing of  himself  ;  to  his  minute  and  thorough  perception  of  cause 
and  effect  in  stage  art,  and  to  his  consummate  skill  in  deducing 
the  one  from  the  other.  Intense  earnestness,  with  clear  mean- 
ing distinctly  revealed  and  unerringly  projected,  and  with  the 
unity  of  texture  and  symmetry  of  form  that  should  characterize 
a  dramatic  conception  thoroughly  fashioned  and  adequately  ex- 


316  ACTING   AND    ORATOR}'. 

pressed.  The  lesson  is  trite,  perhaps,  but  not  needless,  in  a 
time  so  full  of  slop  work  and  wild  experiments  upon  public 
taste — that  there  is  an  everlasting  power  of  conquest  in  the  art 
which  understands  itself  and  goes  straight  to  its  purpose  with 
the  splendid  ease  of  second  nature,  that  makes  one  totally  ob- 
livious of  the  enormous  effort  and  restless  skill  which  alone  can 
produce  such  effects  of  illusion.  It  is  as  in  lace-work  the  most 
delicate  threads  count. 

As  to  the  expression  which  a  great  artist  gives  to  his  acting, 
it  is  the  voice  of  the  soul,  which  is  scarcely  ever  heard  in  the 
same  tone,  even  under  similar  circumstances,  and  which  cannot 
be  expressed  to  the  eye  by  volumes  of  signs.  Such  a  multitude 
of  delicate  shades  of  expression,  prepared  beforehand,  would  be 
both  ambitious  and  cold,  and  would  injure,  instead  of  increas- 
ing, the  effect  of  the  effort.  And  yet  acting  rests  on  laws  the 
most  exact  and  determinate.  The  best  of  the  best  soul.  If  of 
itself  for  glitter  and  show,  it  is  false  and  weak.  In  its  right  way 
it  is  an  elastic,  unexhausted  power,  and  no  sense  which  is  not 
capable  of  exquisite  performance. 

Art  may  be  taught,  because  it  is  learned  ;  nature  can  neither 
be  taught  nor  learned.  The  secrets  of  art  may  be  said  to  have 
a  common  key  to  unlock  them  ;  the  secrets  of  nature  have  but 
one  master-key — the  heart. 

Whatever  is  guided  by  the  spirit  of  affectation,  of  singularity, 
that  aims  to  produce  effect  by  variety  alone,  cannot  long  survive. 
•Genius  in  such  a  channel  does  more  to  corrupt  than  the  veriest 
blockheads.  He  may  secure  a  crowd  of  admirers  for  a  while. 
He  hurries  on  with  contempt  for  petty  ornaments,  or  minuter 
graces  which  set  off  the  grander  qualities,  and  injures  public 
taste.  It  is  gold  and  mud  mixed  together  in  the  stream  that 
tears  its  way  along. 

The  greater  part  of  the  traditional  rules  concerning  theatri- 
cal declamation  have  no  other  object  than  dignity  or  beauty, 
hence  that  frigid  eloquence  in  most  actors. 

It  is  the  whole  character,  even  when  saying  little,  or  even 
nothing  to  say.  It  is  the  soul,  and  not  from  the  mouth  or  cos- 
tume. It  lies  deeper  than  show  or  sound.  One  can  dilate  to 


ACTING.  317 

airiness  if  need  be.  Eepose  is  the  last  gained  and  most  import- 
ant acquirement.  Paradoxical  as  it  may  seem,  the  height  of 
eloquence  is  silence,  and  the  perfection  of  action  is  stillness.  It 
takes  years  for  an  actor  to  learn  the  art  of  standing  still  in  dif- 
ferent attitudes. 

Great  acting  should  unite  extreme  delicacy  with  marvelous 
skill  in  mechanical  execution,  with  the  grand,  the  boundless, 
and  infinite  ;  it  should  be  a  rare  and  beautiful  combination  of 
contrasting  elements,  conceived  by  the  power  of  human  intellect, 
and  aiming  at  faultless  perfection  in  the  minutest  details  as  well 
as  in  the  lofty  grandeur  and  comprehensiveness  of  the  general  de- 
sign. The  greatest  artist  is  he  who  is  greatest  in  the  highest  reach- 
es, not  in  the  details  only,  of  his  art.  It  is  not  by  his  faults  but 
by  his  excellences,  that  we  measure  a  great  man.  Even  i-f  great, 
some  are  as  unfit  in  private  as  cannons  in  a  parlor,  but  given  a 
commanding  occasion  and  they  display  unlocked  for  powers. 

If  gifted  with  a  lively  imagination,  one  will  often  sit,  in 
lonely  hours,  as  though  spell-bound,  seeking  silent  expression 
of  the  lofty  thoughts  within  his  mind. 

Yet  one  must  have  a  care  that  all  is  purpose.  This  is  the 
only  way  to  become  continually  greater.  The  mind  will  only 
become  clear  when  form  has  become  clear  to  it. 

The  life-spring  of  acting  is  the  rhythm  of  the  actor's  emo- 
tions— the  genius  and  enthusiasm  of  humanity. 

Man  cannot  pass  beyond  himself  in  sympathies  or  passions, 
hence  so  often  exaggeration  of  self.  Listen  to  a  passionate 
man  give  words  to  his  passion. 

Be  willing  to  suffer  before  representing  suffering.  One 
must  have  ability  to  form  adequate  conception  before  express- 
ing. It  is  not  will,  but  sensibility  ;  neither  is  it  a  child  in 
manly  robes.  A  person  may  excel  in  the  manifestation  of  grief 
and  yet  not  express  suffering. 

Tragic  pathos  to  be  grand  should  be  m-personal.  Instead 
of  our  being  made  to  feel  that  the  sufferer  is  giving  himself  up 
to  self-pity,  we  should  be  made  to  see  in  his  anguish  the  ex- 
pression of  a  general  sorrow.  The  tragic  passion  identifies  its 
suffering  with  the  suffering  of  mankind  in  colossal  voice  and 
features,  with  massive  mien  and  step  but  natural. 


318  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

So  powerful  is  the  mastery  of  some  actors  that  many  accept 
the  conventional  signs  of  dramatic  expression  ;  but  physical  ter- 
ror is  not  metaphysical  awe.  With  such  even  soliloquies  are 
less  communing  with  one's  self,  than  illustrating  the  meaning 
to  a  listener. 

The  fear  and  pity  excited  by  a  fine  tragedy  are  phenomena 
purely  fantastical,  just  as  the  events  which  produce  them.  The 
one  and  the  other  are  shadows  of  the  reality,  and  not  the  reality 
itself.  The  aesthetic  theatre  is  not  a  miserable  stage,  fitted  up 
and  decorated,  but  the  imagination  of  the  spectator  of  the  play. 
This  is  so  true,  that  when  the  soul  is  moved,  agitated,  and 
mounted  on  a  more  elevated  register  than  of  real  life,  even 
extraordinary  phantoms,  ghosts,  apparitions,  appear  very  natu- 
ral, and  produce  sometimes  astonishing  effects,  derived  from  the 
skilfulness  of  the  author  to  excite  the  imagination  by  degrees  to 
that  kind  of  illusion. 

The  gesthetic  imagination  is  the  faculty  which,  in  transform- 
ing the  phantoms  into  intelligible  types,  and  in  giving  to  the 
images  of  the  mind  a  mental  life,  creates  the  beautiful. 

The  highest  value  and  service  of  histrionic  genius  consists 
herein  ;  that  the  magical  power  of  its  performances  evokes  in 
the  souls  of  those  who  throng  to  gaze  on  them  the  noblest 
thoughts  and  sentiments  in  a  degree  superior  to  that  in  which 
they  experience  them  in  ordinary  life.  They  thus  feel  them- 
selves exalted  to  a  grander  pitch  than  their  native  one. 

Furthermore,  every  actor  who,  excelling  in  his  art,  main- 
tains a  high  character  and  bearing,  and  wins  a  proud  social  po- 
sition and  fortune,  exerts  an  effective  influence  in  removing  the 
traditional  odium  or  suspicion  from  his  class,  and  thus  confers 
a  benefit  on  all  who  are  hereafter  to  be  members  of  it. 

The  actor's  career  at  best  is  a  checkered  one.  He  lives  in  an 
atmosphere  electrized  with  human  publicity,  and  walks  between 
walls  lined  with  mirrora,  Everything  in  his  career  is  calculated 
to  develop  an  acute  self-consciousness.  And  then  by  what  terri- 
ble trials  his  sensitiveness  is  beset  in  his  exposure  to  the  opposite 
extremes  of  derision  and  eulogy  !  He  tastes  the  sweetness  of 
fame  more  keenly  than  others,  because  no  other  lives  so  directly 
on  it  or  draws  the  expression  of  it  so  openly  and  directly. 


ACTING.  319 

The  best  lives  a  varied,  wide  and  profound  life.  He  mingles 
with  all  sorts  of  people,  he  observes  keenly,  reflects  much,  and 
is  exposed  to  every  trial,  and  thus  assimilates  into  his  experience 
the  principal  secrets  of  human  nature.  The  moral  substance 
of  the  world  passes  into  his  soul,  and  the  great  lessons  of  human 
destiny  are  epitomized  there.  He  wears  the  honors,  suffers  the 
penalties,  and  proves  the  solidity  and  hollowness  of  fame,  from 
the  wild  idolatry  of  the  throngs  to  the  friendship  of  the  gifted 
and  refined. 

The  exercise  of  the  dramatic  faculty  by  itself  is  productive 
of  tenderness,  largeness,  flexibility,  and  generosity  of  mind  and 
heart.  It  is  based  on  a  rich,  free  intelligence  and  sensibility, 
and  serves  directly  to  quicken  and  invigorate  the  imagination 
and  the  sympathies.  In  fact,  so  far  as  its  offices  are  fulfilled  it 
delivers  one  from  the  hard,  narrow  limits  of  self-hood  by  the 
conception  and  feeling  of  other  grades  and  styles  of  character. 
Identification  with  their  varieties  develops  the  whole  range  of 
his  nature,  and  makes  him,  while  sensitive  to  differences,  full  of 
charity.  But  there  is  a  sharp  contradiction  between  this  natu- 
ral tendency  of  the  art  by  itself  and  the  influence  of  the  practice 
of  it  as  a  means  of  celebrity  and  emolument.  Thus  actors  are 
drawn  to  one  another  in  kindly  sentiment  by  the  intrinsic  quali- 
ties of  their  art,  but  thrown  into  hostile  relation  by  those  condi- 
tiqns  which  make  them  selfish  competitors  for  precedence.  A 
great  many  friendships  are  therefore  fostered,  and  a  great  many 
rankling  animosities  are  bred. 

But  the  true  actor  stoops  to  no  tricks  to  get  himself  talked 
about ;  plans  no  conspiracies  to  push  his  own  claims,  or  hold 
others  back  ;  bribes  no  one  from  writing  him  down,  but  by  reso- 
lution, study  and  effort  wins  his  way.  His  is  not  the  folly  of 
living  to  gain  applause,  but  rather  the  dignity  of  living  to 
achieve  merit.  To  him  the  praise  of  an  artist  is  dearer  than  the 
applause  of  the  masses. 

A  great  player  rises  beyond  criticism  of  capacity  ;  he  has 
mastered  all  the  difficulties  of  his  art ;  he  has  learned  all  the 
effects  which  a  good  actor  cannot  dispense  with  ;  and  all  these 
means  he  puts  to  the  service  of  his  genius  ;  and  as  there  is  no 
room  for  vulgar  criticism  of  his  proficiency,  one  can  only  ob- 


320  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

serve  the  manifestations  of  his  genius.  But  there  are  not  many 
such. 

Greatness  of  soul  is  necessary  for  a  great  actor,  quick  de- 
tachableness,  and  facility  of  transitions,  with  full  understanding, 
sensibility  and  fire  ;  but  cold  counterfeits  of  these  are  odious. 
Some  are  great  only  when  inspired  and  set  off  by  grand  adjuncts  ; 
others  by  the  native  build  of  their  being.  Some  can  act  in  the 
theatre,  and  be  simple  and  sincere  in  the  household. 

Some  actors  are  so  cold  and  reserved  as  to  eclipse  their  char- 
acters by  their  mysterious,  inexplicable  self-repression.  They 
may  exist  in  their  minds  as  ideals,  but  do  not  take  bold  promi- 
nence as  embodied  facts.  Some  are  intelligent,  apt,  self-poised  ; 
but  are  deficient  in  imagination  and  depth  of  feeling.  Some 
may  be  too  young,  but  ingenuous,  and  some  may  never  really 
know  anything  of  real  emotion.  Sometimes,  with  the  feeling  of 
great  power  and  that  joined  to  practice,  performers  are  often 
led  to  believe  that  everything  is  possible  to  their  efforts,  and 
that  they  are  excluded  from  a  particular  walk  by  prejudice  or 
timidity  of  those  in  control.  True  success  after  all  lies  of tenest 
in  humility.  It  must  not  be  a  desire  of  early  prominence. 
Great  effects  can  be  produced  only  by  great  causes,  and  the 
public  does  not  become  enthusiastic  for  nothing. 

It  is  not  by  quick,  but  continual  study,  and  experience,  a 
constant  watching  of  one's  own  powers,  and  with  an  iron  wiU  ; 
and  the  end  to  be  attained  is  the  medium  between  too  great 
simplicity  and  artificiality — the  true  artistic  style. 

Acting,  like  every  free  existence,  has  its  irregularities,  and  it 
must  be  a  poet's  nature  to  transform  one's-self  into  a  r61e,  even 
for  a  female  artist,  to  comprehend  and  portray  the  passionate 
earnestness  even  of  love.  For  her  to  express  the  heart-rending 
loneliness  of  her  desertion  and  despair,  the  deceptive  hopes,  the 
wayward  fears,  which  may  subside  into  a  yet  more  fearful  calm, 
that  chilling  apathy,  which  breathes  less  of  resignation  than 
despair. 

Sometimes  unique  beauty  united  with  a  tremor  of  nervous 
condition  makes  an  actress  magnetic.  Strangeness  of  composi- 
tion, a  wild  luxuriance,  and  audacious  originality  will  attract, — 
it  stirs  the  imagination  of  the  spectators.  Emotional  intensity 


ACTING.  3->l 

and  vigor  of  brain  may  belong  to  a  startling  individuality,  but 
it  is  not  necessarily  evidence  of  dramatic  genius.  The  latter  is 
an  intellectual  power,  suffused  with  emotion  ready  to  conceive 
character.  It  is  not  fierce  and  fervid,  or  pathetic,  or  even 
lachrymose  temperament.  These  sometimes  create  a  flutter, 
but  it  is  not  genius  ;  it  may  be  mechanism.  It  is  all  self-con- 
scious. Even  innocence  may  be  the  affected  demureness  of  a 
knowing  woman.  It  is  insincere.  Refinement  may  be  patchouly 
and  patent  leather. 

It  may  be  impressive,  very  intellectual,  but  may  lack  mag- 
netism, intensity,  fire  of  genius,  for  which  no  amount  of  study 
can  compensate.  It  is  mere  talent.  Some  cannot  veil  self-con- 
sciousness ;  cannot  forget  artist  in  character.  It  is  a  finished 
method,  mere  individuality.  Eeally,  perhaps,  intent,  only  the 
next  syllable  to  it.  It  should  be  so  studied  as  to  seem  studyless. 
The  essence — spirit. 

Mere  emotion  has  no  aesthetic  value  ;  it  belongs  to  the  agree- 
able with  which  the  fine  arts  have  nothing  to  do ;  such  gratify 
the  sense  and  relate  only  to  the  external,  not  internal.  They 
only  produce  exhaustion  of  the  lachrymal  sac,  and  a  delightful 
alleviation  of  the  vessels ;  but  the  spirit  goes  away  empty  ;  per- 
haps edified,  but  nothing  is  built  up.  They  are  excluded  from 
art  by  a  manly  taste  because  they  please  nothing  but  the  sense. 
Likewise  are  excluded  those  which  only  torture  the  sense  with- 
out indemnifying  the  spirit.  They  oppress  the  mental  by  pain 
as  the  others  do  by  pleasure,  and  cause  aversion.  The  pathetic 
is  aesthetic  only  so  far  as  it  is  sublime,  which  springs  only  from 
reason.  The  one  is  common,  the  other  noble.  One  is  sensuous- 
ness,  the  other  reason.  The  one  mere  design,  the  other  ideas. 
Mute  and  stifled  pain  is  more  powerful  than  tears  which  reduce 
the  pain  to  the  province  of  animality.  Beyond  nature  lies  pathos 
and  tragedy.  Medea  slaying  her  children  aims  at  Jason's  heart, 
but  inflicts  a  grievous  wound  upon  herself  ;  her  revenge  becomes 
aesthetically  sublime  as  soon  as  she  displays  the  tenderness  of  the 
mother. 

Culture  should  make  man  free  and  develop  conception  ;  from 
the  beautiful,  sensuous,  to  the  sublime,  supersensuous ;  both 
through  all  nature,  and  the  susceptibility  for  both  in  man 


322  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

to  be  assisted  by  art.  Beauty  to  youth — sublimity  to  man- 
hood. 

Speaking  in  another  character  is  acting.  It  is  to  give  own 
thoughts  a  corrected  exaggeration  of  natural  feelings  ;  and  when 
needed,  sudden  fierceness,  with  tremendous  power  ;  not  with 
typical  gesture,  academic  pose,  fixed  conventional  manner,  but 
with  infinite  variety  of  passion.  The  soul  is  like  a  stringed  in- 
strument of  widest  range,  and  even  its  lulling  continues  its 
vibrations  after  the  impulse  has  ceased,  till  they  gradually  die 
away. 

It  is  a  splendid  fiction.  Art  is  difficult  and  must  not  appear 
to  need  exemption  from  its  trammels.  In  clog-dancing  part  of 
the  pleasure  is  in  the  clogs.  Acting  is  imitative  truth  not  ser- 
vile transcript.  It  is  not  as  common  conversation.  Imitation 
produces  resemblance  and  notwithstanding  the  dissimilarity, 
the  effect  is  reality  even  though  wanting  as  to  the  real  object. 
It  appears  as  the  thing  itself  by  means  far  different  and  distant. 
It  seems  unconstrained  while  under  the  yoke  of  rules  ;  has  the 
charm  of  ease  in  the  midst  of  difficulties,  yet  mere  fiction,  and 
has  a  wonderful  existence.  The  characteristic  of  art  is  fiction. 
It  is  not  to  overstrain  the  improbability  but  to  palliate  its  result, 
its  effect  on  the  mind.  It  is  to  supply  the  place  of  ideality.  The 
end  is  ideal  beauty  and  perfection,  pleasure.  It  is  to  imagine 
we  are  the  reality,  its  spirit ;  not  however  in  individual  but 
general  conditions,  it  is  universal.  There  is  no  model ;  but 
existenceless  ;  genius  finds  it ;  first  in  details,  then,  in  gener- 
alization. It  is  to  depict  as  should  be  and  not,  as  is  ;  it  should 
be  raised.  It  should  be  pure,  simple,  not  left  in  detail,  but 
raised  to  grandeur  beyond  nature.  It  is  the  intellectual  above 
beauty.  First  rules,  then  intellectual,  speculative.  Generalize 
at  last  and  show  all  details  at  a  stroke.  It  is  to  be  compact  in 
time  and  expression,  restriction.  It  is  unity,  condensation.  It 
is  to  follow  the  multitude,  then  imitate  nature  ;  not  each,  but 
all.  This  begets  inspiration.  This  process  defies  analysis.  It 
creates  exaltedness  and  fervor  of  the  conception,  with  glowing 
intensity,  a  worshipping  affection.  It  is  an  immense  elevation 
above  the  literality  of  the  actual.  The  greatest  has  the  greatest 
amount  of  thought,  feeling,  and  expression  in  the  highest 


ACTING.  323 

degree.  He  is  above  pleasing  the  vulgar  whose  judgment  is 
mere  caprice,  tawdry  and  false.  His  simplicity  and  purity  is  too 
deep  for  them.  It  should  be  a  desire  to  excel,  to  love  fame  but 
be  able  to  distinguish  from  the  popular. 

A  great  actor,  on  beginning  his  career,  is  conscious  of  a 
distinct  volition  in  connection  with  every  expression  and  move- 
ment. When  a  high  degree  of  skill  had  been  attained  he  is  not 
further  conscious  of  such  volitions.  He  is  conscious  only  of  a 
general  purpose.  The  operations  of  his  voice  and  action  have 
become  habitual  in  consequence  of  long  practice.  He  may  not 
be  always  able  even  to  tell  how  he  does  his  work,  and  yet  he 
knows  he  does  it.  Fine  acting  must  have  that  plastic  property 
— the  natural  faculty  of  transforming  itself  into  every  variety 
of  shape  conceived  by  the  fancy  and  imagination.  Some 
natures  are  of  harder  material,  that  readily  takes  polish,  but 
the  process  by  which  it  receives  it  is  laborious  and  artificial. 
One  should  have  a  liquid  or  soft  nature  that  can  take  sponta- 
neously the  most  beautiful  forms  of  temporary  crystals,  to  be 
re- resolved  and  re-formed  again  at  will. 

Some  derive  only  from  consummate  art  and  skill  that  grace 
and  beauty  and  power  of  expression  which  are  the  natural 
property  of  true  acting.  Some  have  great  gravity,  solidity  of 
purpose,  and  what  might  be  termed  momentum  or  energy,  but 
these  are  more  fit  for  embodying  and  expressing  the  active  and 
practical  and  not  the  imaginative  and  speculative.  These  come 
from  nervous  energy  and  constitutional  vigor,  but  by  no  means 
exhibit  the  permanency  and  vitality  of  soul. 

Fine  acting  has  a  wonderful  vitality,  but  yet  it  clings  to  ex- 
istence like  a  plant  of  such  delicate  nature,  that  it  can  only 
flourish  under  a  combination  of  favorable  circumstances. 

Acting  requires  exceptional,  and  rare,  natural  gifts,  a  culti- 
vated mind,  large  experience,  a  temperament  of  mercurial 
quickness,  and  a  passionate  sensibility  to  feel  dramatic  instincts 
with  fervor  and  fullness.  One  should  have  power  of  the  high- 
est quality,  the  ability  to  conceive  character  with  precision  and 


liv'4  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

force.  The  voice  should  be  rich,  full,  of  a  wide  compass,  and 
pk'using  throughout  its  whole  range.  The  face  should  be 
flexible  and  plastic,  and  be  able  to  embody  the  sentiment 
expressed  with  a  mobile  fidelity,  and  change  with  every 
change  of  thought  and  feeling.  The  action  should  be  thor- 
oughly studied  but  yet  achieve  naturalness  and  grace.  A 
highly  intellectual  nature,  spurning  the  trammels  and  conven- 
tionalities of  the  day,  and  rising  in  daring  opposition  to  the 
ruling  spirit,  must  ever  concentrate  its  powers  within  itself, 
and  can  rarely  attain  great  vivacity  in  the  creative  faculty  of 
imagination. 

Tragedy  was  not  made  for  tender,  weak-nerved  spirits.  It 
requires  strong  shoulders.  The  upper  air  of  poetry  is  the  at- 
mosphere of  sorrow,  "  Tragedy"  When  a  man  weeps,  the 
passions  that  are  stirring  within  him  are  mightier  than  those 
feelings  which  prompt  to  joy.  The  smile  that  plays  upon  the 
face,  and  the  laugh  is  a  momentary  impulse  ;  but  the  tear  rises 
slowly  and  silently  from  the  deep  places  of  the  heart ;  the  sym- 
bol, and  relief  of  overwhelming  feeling — the  language  of  those 
emotions  words  cannot  give  utterance.  In  one's  heart  are  pas- 
sions whose  very  might  and  depth  give  them  a  sanctity,  which 
we  instinctively  recognize  by  veiling  them  from  the  gaze  of 
others.  They  are  sacred  and  the  common  touch  would  profane 
them.  Innocence  sheds  tears  without  restraint  or  disguise. 
But,  when  the  self-consciousness  of  manhood  has  taught  us  that 
tears  are  the  expression  of  passions  too  sacred  for  exposure,  the 
heart  will  break  in  silence  rather  than  violate  this  instinct.  To 
tragedy  belong  the  most  awful  emotions  of  human  nature. 
Salutary  influences  belong  to  tragic  poetry,  calculated  to  chasten, 
to  elevate  and  to  purify.  The  strange  mystery  of  the  human 
heart, — its  unknown  power,  energy,  endurance.  Tragedy  has 
a  moral  design  and  its  uses  may  be  neglected,  and  feelings  how- 
ever high  will  perish  unless  converted  into  active  principles. 
The  murder  scene  in  Macbeth  is  the  most  appalling  in  English 
literature.  The  third  act  of  Othello  is  the  most  masterly  in 
drama.  Silent,  weary  suffering  files  away  the  soft  heart  of  man, 
attenuates  his  reason  into  a  dull  instinct,  or  cracks  the  stout 
heart  as  you  would  shiver  a  flint. 


ACTING.  325 

There  is  seldom  a  line  of  glory  written  upon  the  earth's  face 
but  a  line  of  suffering  runs  parallel. 

A  too  literal  interpretation  of  the  passages  of  a  play — the  un- 
imaginative reading,  is  fatal  to  the  spirit  of  poetry.  It  should 
be  simplicity  and  variety,  intricacy  and  regularity.  One  color 
will  not  constitute  a  picture  ;  and  yet  over  a  variety  of  colors 
there  must  be  thrown  one  tint  and  color. 

The  passion  for  the  marvelous,  when  excessive,  is  shown  in 
the  fondness  for  hearing,  seeing  and  telling  whatever  is  strange 
and  unaccountable  ;  exaggeration  ;  aversion  to  explain  away,  or 
soften  down  the  circumstances.  Superstitious,  romantic. 

Even  in  technicality  an  actor  may  become  extraordinary  and 
fine,  and  as  regards  mechanism  may  rank  with  the  best.  Em- 
bodiments resulting  from  this  means  may  not  possess  the  illu- 
mination of  genius  or  the  imperial  claim  of  a  fascinating  per- 
sonality, but  it  is  beautiful  in  form,  in  construction,  and 
there  the  limit  of  its  superlative  excellence  is  reached.  It  may 
possess  motive  adequate  and  even  tremendous,  but  not  the 
motive  that  shines  forth  as  the  potential  soul  which  is  the  ex- 
clusive attribute  of  human  greatness,  and  which  never  leaves 
the  sensitive  mind  in  doubt  of  its  presence.  Such  may,  how- 
ever, be  artistic  and  have  the  wealth  of  fine  attributes ;  may 
have  even  stalwart  faculties  for  dealing  with  the  primal  ele- 
ments of  dramatic  art.  More  fail  for  want  of  spirit  than  this 
very  sense. 

The  greatest  player  is  he  who  can  most  perfectly  represent 
the  largest  scale  of  characters,  keeping  each  in  its  exact  truth 
and  grade,  yet  passing  freely  through  them  all,  making  them 
throb  with  life  itself. 

The  right  development  of  soul  power,  feeling,  depends  upon 
sequestration,  meditation.  Incessant  mingling  with  men  taxes 
and  tasks  one.  It  wears  out  the  finer  sensibilities.  It  exhausts 
upon  externals  the  whole  force  of  the  mind.  To  be  in  crowds 
tends  to  produce  super-excitability.  There  are  two  kinds  ;  one 
of  nerves,  and  one  cerebral.  There  is  excitement  that  produces 
not  thought  or  feeling,  but  merely  a  kind  of  fever  of  exaltation, 


326  ACTI.\(r    A.\D    ORATORY. 

vague  and  aimless.  Excitement  that  produces  thought  or  emo- 
tion, and  arouses  a  man  to  the  full  use  of  himself,  is  always 
wholesome,  but  it  must  he  regulated. 

To  a  man  of  genius,  leisure  is  the  first  of  benefits,  as  well  as 
of  luxuries  : 

Where,  with  her  best  nurse,  Contemplation,  the  mind 
Can  plume  her  feathers,  and  let  grow  her  wings, 
That  in  the  various  bustle  of  resort 
Were  all  too  ruffled,  and  sometimes  impaired. 

The  actor  must  have  a  great  spirit  of  enjoyment  within  him- 
self, strong  impulses,  strong  passions,  and  a  strong  sense  of  pleas- 
ure to  imitate  the  one,  and  communicate  the  other. 

How  many  circumstances  must  favorably  unite,  before  the 
beautiful,  in  all  its  glory,  can  appear. 

Lofty,  deep  intention,  and  great  ideality ;  enthusiasm ; 
technical  power  and  facility  ;  an  inward  need  of  giving  and  re- 
ceiving ;  a  momentarily  favorable  mood  both  in  artist  and  lis- 
tener ;  a  fortunate  combination  of  outward  circumstances ; 
sympathy  of  impressions,  feelings,  views  ;  a  reflection  of  artistic 
joy  from  others.  A  happy  combination,  with  six  dice,  of  six 
times  six. 

While  you  acknowledge  the  letter,  do  not  deny  the  spirit. 
Psyche  in  repose,  with  her  wings  folded,  is  only  half  beautiful ; 
she  should  float  through  the  air.  The  mind  may  err  but  not 
the  heart.  The  first  conception  is  always  the  most  natural. 
Kules  may  assist,  but  if  not  constructed  on  broad  philosophical 
principles  are  more  likely  to  cramp  the  actor.  A  pedantic  skill 
is  detrimental.  A  system  imperfectly  comprehended,  or  not 
familiarized  by  practice,  will  prove  an  impediment  rather  than  a 
help,  as  in  all  other  arts.  No  special  system  can  be  devised  for 
men  whose  natural  powers  are  different.  A  rightly  varying  sys- 
tem does  not  impede  nature. 

Extravagance,  rant  and  assurance  require  no  knowledge, 
scarce  any  understanding,  and  are  often  owing  to  the  absence 
of  modesty,  and  good  qualities,  rather  than  the  possession  of 
any  others ;  yet  these  things  the  multitude  sometimes  admire. 
On  the  contrary,  dignity  of  deportment,  a  just  expression,  a 
perfect  comprehension  of  an  elegant  author,  and  a  perfect  de- 


ACTING.  337 

livery  of  his  meaning,  are  the  true  requisites  of  him  who  hopes 
high  success  in  the  loftier  walks  of  tragedy.  These  may  all  be 
possessed  without  show,  and  the  vulgar  eye  not  discover  them. 
With  such,  things  that  are  very  great  are  overlooked,  while  ex- 
travagance and  effrontery  carry  all  before  them.  Petty  interests 
cramp  and  demean  expression. 

Elevation  of  thought  gives  grandeur  and  delicacy  of  expres- 
sion to  passion.  The  expansion  and  refinement  of  the  soul  are 
seen  in  the  face.  An  enlargement  of  purpose  gives  expansion 
of  form.  The  mind  acts  over  the  whole  body.  Above  coarse- 
ness and  below  refinement  is  where  propriety  resides. 

The  drama  attempts  to  represent  characters,  actions,  and 
actual  speech  as  precisely  and  accurately  as  possible. 

In  an  actor  the  unremitting  analysis  of  his  own  heart,  his 
study  of  the  passions  and  of  their  physical  expression,  are  for 
him  but  the  means  of  manifesting  outwardly  the  militant  energy 
with  which  he  is  carried  away.  Sometimes,  however,  the  abuse 
of  technique  and  the  force  of  routine  expel  lively  invention, 
naturalness,  and  the  great  transports  of  the  heart,  and  the  per- 
fect truth,  and  even  though  one  be  superior  to  others  he  may 
yet  be  inferior  to  himself. 

By  excess  of  literal  imitation  the  actor  gives  less  pleasure. 

It  is  essential  to  closely  imitate  something,  but  not  every- 
thing. It  must  be  the  leading  idea,  the  essence. 

The  actor  must  experience  original  sensation ;  in  feeling  a 
character  the  effect  is  a  strong,  peculiar  impression.  His  per- 
ceptions must  be  delicate  and  quick  ;  he  must  have  a  sure  and 
watchful  tact  to  know  and  distinguish  various  shades,  the 
plaintive  heroic  in  sound,  listlessness  or  stateliness  in  attitude. 
Through  this  faculty  he  penetrates  to  the  very  heart  of  things, 
and  seems  more  clear-sighted  than  others.  This  sensation  is 
not  inactive  ;  by  a  counter-stroke  the  whole  nervous  and  think- 
ing machinery  is  affected  by  it.  Man  involuntarily  expresses 
his  emotions  ;  the  body  makes  signs,  its  attitude  becomes  mim- 
etic ;  he  is  obliged  to  figure  externally  his  conception  of  an 
object ;  the  voice  seeks  imitative  inflections,  the  tongue  finds 
pictorial  terms,  unforeseen  forms,  a  figurative,  inventive,  exag- 


328  ACTI.\(i    AXD    ORATORY. 

gerated  style.  Under  the  force  of  the  original  impulse,  the 
active  brain  re-casts  and  transforms  the  idea,  to  illume  and 
ennoble,  or  to  distort  and  grotesquely  pervert  it. 

A  beautiful  art  but  sometimes  crippled  by  imperfect  intui- 
tion ;  the  tones  may  be  round,  with  possible  elegance  of  delivery 
and  variety  of  rich  and  dazzling  embellishments,  and  marvel  of 
florid  vocal  display,  mechanical  skill,  intense  passion,  great  ex- 
cellence, yet  leave  the  imagination  cold,  the  spirit  unsatisfied. 
It  lacks  romance,  fascination.  It  is  intellectual  perception,  and 
not  spontaneous  sympathy.  No  tears  because  no  pathos  ;  not 
saddened  to  the  heart's  core.  It  is  lively  sentiment,  but  not 
hallowed.  A  broken  series  of  splendid  effects  ;  not  electrical, 
continuous  identity.  It  is  finished,  but  not  great  acting. 

The  desire  is  to  see  great  effects  produced  with  the  smallest 
expenditure  of  means,  and  the  appearance  of  ease  on  the  part 
of  the  actor.  Like  a  slender  stem  on  an  extended  base,  which 
may  prove  efficient  and  gratify  the  mind  with  a  large  effect  from 
a  small  outlay ;  or  a  tree  with  spreading  roots,  supporting  an 
expanded  foliage — is  a  fine  example  of  the  reconciliation  of  ade- 
quate sustaining  power  with  small  outlay  of  material,  and  a 
striking  contrast  to  the  grossness  of  the  pyramid.  Thus  an 
actor  feels  bound  to  suppress  all  the  appearances  of  labor  and 
fatigue,  and  to  put,  as  much  as  possible,  the  mechanism  of  the 
scenes  out  of  sight.  The  greatest  are  those  who  have  a  passion 
for  perfect  work,  and  can  afford  to  suppress  rminy  failures 
which  seem  as  steps  of  progress.  Thus  the  labor  of  love,  which 
may  seem  in  vain  to  others,  has  its  reward  at  last  to  testify  to 
the  earnest  mind  and  devoted  heart. 

The  little  bit  of  stick,  the  insignificant  sound-post,  is  so  im- 
portant in  helping  to  communicate  and  mix  the  vibrations,  that 
the  French  have  called  it  the  "soul  of  the  rial  in,  ;  "  indeed,  by 
moving  it  only  a  hair's  breadth  a  sensible  difference  in  the 
quality  of  the  tone  is  produced,  and  a  whole  morning  may 
sometimes  be  wasted  in  putting  it  up  and  shifting  it  about  from 
one  side  to  the  other.  So  it  is  with  the  sensitive  actor's  voice 
to  fit  it  to  every  possible  and  infinite  variety  of  shade  of  emo- 


ACTING.  329 

tion.  There  seems  to  be  a  strangely  sensitive,  almost  human 
element  about  the  violin  which  exists  in  no  other  instrument, 
and  yields- to  some  all  its  hidden  and  mysterious  sweetness.  No 
instrument,  however,  is  so  capricious  or  so  absorbing.  If  one 
string  chances  to  be  a  little  too  thick,  the  others  will  rebel ;  it 
will  take  to  some  particular  bridge,  and  reject  others ;  it  will 
have  its  bridge  in  one  place,  and  only  one  ;  it  feels  every  change 
in  the  weather,  like  a  barometer,  and  has  to  be  rubbed,  and 
coaxed,  and  warmed  into  good  humor  like  a  child.  Sometimes 
after  being  caressed,  and  above  all,  played  into  a  splendid  con- 
dition, the  sensitive  way  in  which  it  responds  to  each  tiny  vibra- 
tion of  the  touch  will  entrance  and  astonish  the  player  himself, 
and,  like  the  actor  with  his  voice,  he  will  often  find  as  much 
power  as  he  brought ;  and  if  at  times  either  dictate,  they,  as 
instruments,  will  as  often  subdue  him.  and  carry  him  away  with 
their  own  sweetness,  until  he  forgets  his  own  mind,  and  follows 
the  lead,  as  the  case  may  be,  of  either  marvelous  companion. 

In  order  to  make  his  effort  a  living  whole,  to  give  it  indi- 
viduality, the  actor  must  impart  to  it  characteristics  of  the 
most  precise  stamp. 

A  striving  after  perfection  never  to  be  absolutely  reached, 
must  be  a  constant  progress,  seeking  to  approach  continually, 
and  without  intermission,  the  prescribed  goal.  One  cannot 
always  move  forward  in  direct  line,  and  with  even  pace,  because 
of  obstructions,  or  in  preparation  for  a  work  which  cannot  suc- 
ceed at  once.  But  progress  itself  receives  its  perfection  from 
the  steady  constancy  prevailing  in  it,  as  each  part  of  the  process 
serves  in  its  turn  for  the  preparation  of  what  follows. 

So  unceasing  and  vehement  is  progress  that  it  detests  every 
thought  that  does  not  bring  it  nearer  the  goal. 

If  there  is  no  enthusiasm  for  a  great  and  beautiful  idea,  it  is 
because  of  lack  of  contemplation  of  all  its  relations,  or  of  de- 
pression of  mind  by  difficulties,  so  that  it  cannot  freely  and 
readily  yield  itself  up  to  such  influences. 

In  some  there  is  too  great  proneness  to  excesses  of  the  voli- 
tional discharge,  while  in  others  it  is  not  easy  to  procure  an 
energetic  burst.  These  very  intense  efforts  are  less  the  result 
of  any  association  than  of  the  stimulation  and  excitement  grow- 


330  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

ing  out  of  the  circumstances  of  the  moment.  Education  does 
not  show  itself  so  much  in  preparing  for  vehement  exertions,  as 
in  giving  proper  direction  to  the  active  impulses,  and  in  gradu- 
ating them  for  delicacy  of  execution.  The  fixing  of  the  exact 
degree  of  power  to  be  put  forth  at  every  stage  of  a  work  of  skill, 
is  one  of  the  nice  points  of  volitional  acquirement.  There  is  a 
certain  primitive  quality  of  the  constitution  favorable  to  such  an 
acquirement,  and  there  are  great  individual  differences.  In  the 
senses,  delicacy  of  organ  implies  susceptibility  to  minute  shades 
of  difference,  so,  in  the  putting  forth  of  muscular  power,  there 
must  be  a  similar  appreciation  of  minute  gradations  of  force. 
This  constitutes  dexterity  and  nicety  of  mechanical  manipu- 
lation. 

This  exposition  of  imitation  might  be  carried  on  into  all  the 
postures,  gesticulations  and  motions  of  the  body  at  large.  As 
regards  the  lower  limbs  and  trunk  there  is  no  essential  differ- 
ence. The  feet  seem  much  less  prepared  originally  for  varied 
voluntary  movements  than  the  hands ;  their  accomplishments 
are  more  limited  arid  laborious.  The  greatest  difficulty  of  imi- 
tation is  with  the  head  and  features.  The  best  medium  of  dis- 
cernment is  a  mirror.  Another  way  is  to  have  some  one  at 
hand  to  observe  the  movements. 

The  action  of  sobbing  which  the  actor  can  command  with- 
out the  emotion  itself,  might  be  forced  on  by  movements  of  the 
parts  concerned.  Where  connection  between  an  organic  process 
and  the  organs  is  wanting,  or  very  remote,  as  in  the  heart's  ac- 
tion and  the  gastric  secretion,  no  power  is  possessed.  Blushing 
cannot  be  induced  or  restrained  by  will.  From  such  natural 
connections  and  those  that  grow  artificially,  the  range  of  con- 
trol is  extended  much  beyond  its  original  sphere. 

In  the  command  of  the  emotional  states,  it  is  practicable  to 
check,  or  further,  diffusive  manifestation  made  up  of  movements 
of  the  voluntary  organs.  The  play  of  the  features,  the  vocal 
exclamations,  gesticulations — these  come  under  the  domain  of 
volition. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  personation  of  a  feeling  by 


ACTING.  331 

an  actor  calls  up  the  reality.  There  may  be  a  certain  tendency 
to  do  so,  but  various  things  may  come  between  the  manifesta- 
tion and  the  mental  state  in  accord.  The  appearances  assumed 
are  not  precisely  coincident  with  genuine  feeling;  they  are 
rather  adaptations.  It  is  rather  a  construction  after  a  model, 
with  improvements  as  a  work  of  art.  The  mind  of  the  actor  is 
to  this  end  and  not  with  assumption  of  inward  feeling  in  his 
own  person.  He  may  catch  the  infection  and  come  under 
the  reality,  and  derive  suggestions  as  to  the  outward  embodi- 
ment, but  it  is  not  absolutely  requisite. 

The  submission  of  the  various  parts  to  motives  operating  on 
the  mind,  might  be  easily  extended  to  displays  of  feeling.  The 
control  arrived  at  over  the  features,  the  "voice,  the  upper  and 
lower  extremities,  and  the  rest,  is  available  for  any  purpose  of 
restraining  or  inducing  action  that  can  ever  arise.  Usually, 
however,  the  control  of  the  feelings  is  not  postponed  till  the 
volition  is  fully  educated  in  all  other  respects. 

The  intervention  of  ideas  is  more  thoroughgoing  than  the 
muscular  command  of  the  organs  of  expression,  seeing  that  we 
can  only  resuscitate  the  feeling  itself,  all  the  diffusive  accom- 
paniments are  sure  to  follow. 

Tender  Emotion. 

Tenderness  is  an  outgoing  of  pleasurable  emotion,  compre- 
hending the  warm  affections,  and  benevolent  sentiments,  and 
drawing  human  beings  into  mutual  embrace. 

Among  its  stimulants,  first,  all  the  pleasures  that  are  mas- 
sive, rather  than  acute,  slow,  dying  movements,  repose  after 
exercise,  repletion,  agreeable  warmth,  soft  contacts,  gentle,  vol- 
uminous sounds.  Next,  great  pleasures ;  under  the  agitation 
of  extreme  joy,  the  affections  burst  out  into  warm  displays,  and 
demand  response. 

The  high  and  mellow  note,  sometimes  in  the  wail  of  grief, 
has  especial  efficacy  in  touching  the  tender  chords.  It  is  only 
by  experience  that  we  can  interpret  the  expression  put  on  by 
the  features,  remarkable  as  that  may  be ;  but  the  pathetic  wail, 
and  the  watery  eye-ball,  have  an  original  tendency  to  affect 
others  with  the  same  feeling. 


332  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

The  physical  side  of  tender  emotion  is  characteristic,  and  in 
no  small  degree,  complicated.  The  full,  out-spoken  manifesta- 
tion of  the  feeling,  is  the  loving  embrace. 

First  of  all  the  lachrymal  gland  and  sac  is  specifically  acted 
on  during  an  outburst  of  tender  feeling.  During  a  genial  ex- 
ercise of  the  emotion  it  is  merely  a  slight  increase  of  the  secre- 
tion ;  a  profuse  flooding  of  the  eyes  in  pain  and  grief  is  a  mor- 
bid stimulation  of  the  gland. 

Next,  the  movements  of  the  pharynx,  or  muscular  cavity 
where  the  food  is  swallowed.  In  violent  grief  these  muscles  are 
so  convulsed  as  to  prevent  one  from  swallowing ;  in  ordinary 
tenderness  they  are  the  seat  of  an  indescribable  sensibility,  char- 
acteristic of  the  emotion.  These  muscles  affect  the  entire  chest, 
however. 

Lastly,  the  features,  voice  and  carriage  take  on  a  pleasing 
and  tranquil  expression,  ending  all  in  the  embrace. 

These  are  varied  with  the  soft  touch,  the  rich  and  glossy 
tints  appearing  on  the  surface,  the  lustre  of  the  eye.  and  certain 
strains  of  vocal  utterance, — united  with  the  rounding  of  the 
form,  and  the  more  graceful  movements. 

Bodily  exercise,  generally  is  antagonistic  to  the  development 
of  feeling.  Acting  and  feeling  tend  to  exclude  one  another. 
Bodily  labor  restricts  the  play  of  emotion.  Muscular  quiescence. 

The  idea  that  if  a  man  feels  he  makes  others  feel  implies  an 
outward  power  of  manifestation — in  which  men  vastly  differ. 
Every  one  has  not  the  strength  and  nerve  of  a  Kean. 

With  inward  excitement  and  outward  demonstration  we 
have  the  power  to  move  as  we  are  moved,  while  a  great  actor 
with  the  latter  can  actually  dispense  with  the  former  and  yet 
produce  all  the  effects  desired. 

To  put  on,  by  suggestion,  the  outward  gesticulation,  the  play 
of  feature,  the  vocal  tones,  the  watery  eye,  the  interior  nerve 
currents — excited  in  a  burst  of  grief — we  should  have  the  very 
emotion,  as  if  inspired  by  its  true  motive.  But  it  is  only  an 
approximation  that  is  possible  in  any  case  ;  a  sincere  sympathy 
will  penetrate  a  great  way  ;  the  player  learns  to  draw  a  line  be- 
tween the  visible  manifestations  and  the  invisible  movements  in 


ACTING.  333 

the  interior  of  the  brain.  We  can  acquire  a  habit  of  assuming 
the  amount  of  expression  that  appears  outwardly  and  no  more ; 
thus  checking  the  course  of  the  sympathetic  process,  and  setting 
up  a  merely  mechanical  echo  of  true  sentiments.  A  consum- 
mate actor  is  not  supposed  to  feel  in  himself  the  emotion  he 
portrays  externally,  although  he  lias  had,  originally,  secondary 
emotions  by  the  idea  of  the  situation. 

His  organs  of  expression  under  emotion  are  nearly  all  under 
the  control  of  the  will,  and  may  therefore  be  made  to  simulate 
the  manifestations  of  the  feelings,  while  the  performer  at  heart 
is  unmoved.  Still,  when  the  outward  signs  are  prompted,  the 
wave  passing  into  the  interior  inflames  all  concerned  in  the 
embodiment  of  the  feeling,  and  gives  birth  more  or  less  to  the 
accompanying  state. 

A  certain  predisposition  to  love,  or  admire  another  is  neces- 
sary k>  our  entering  cordially  into  an  outburst  of  self-gratula- 
tion.  The  more  tranquil  delights  of  the  intellectual  workings 
are  difficult  to  impart,  except  to  minds  prepared  by  much  expe- 
rience ;  and  in  proportion  as  any  feeling  is  quiet  in  its  exterior 
manifestations  do  we  need  language  and  art  to  evoke  it  by  the 
force  of  sympathy. 

The  eye  and  ear  are  the  great  avenues  to  the  mind  for  aes- 
thetic influences. 

There  is  nothing  so  nobly  represents  the  great  thought,  as 
impetuosity  and  fire  ;  the  voice  cannot  be  too  loud,  the  coun- 
tenance too  much  inflamed,  nor  the  action  too  pointed  ;  but  it 
is  only  when  the  thought  properly  requires  it,  that  they  are 
beautiful,  or  right. 

This  can  only  be  done  by  a  performer  of  judgment  and  ge- 
nius ;  but  although  such  force  and  vehemence,  such  transports 
which  display  themselves  in  the  voice,  look,  gesture,  and  whole 
frame  and  deportment,  be  so  great  and  commendable  with  such, 
the  same  efforts  made  by  others  are  neither  great  nor  graceful, 
nor  do  they  have  any  effect,  and  the  reason  is  from  their  being 
forced  and  untimed  from  the  very  lack  of  judgment.  When 
out  of  place  we  despise  the  player. 

To  be  able  to  surprise,  astonish,  is  the  first  quality  of  an  actor, 


334  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

but  he  must  know  where  and  how  to  do  so.  Nature  gives  the 
power,  but  judgment  conducts  it,  and  unless  these  concur  the 
effect  is  lost.  Even  judgment  may  indeed  in  some  degree  be 
the  gift  of  nature  ;  bnt  to  improve  and  render  it  useful  rules 
are  to  be  observed.  Acting  is  a  science,  and  is  to  be  studied  as  a 
science ;  and  he  who  with  all  that  nature  can  do  for  a  man,  ex- 
pects to  succeed  without  study  will  deceive  himself. 

Nature  gives  an  actor  powers  ;  a  strong  voice,  fine  physique 
and  he  thinks  he  has  nothing  to  do  but  employ  them.  Judg- 
ment will  tell  him  even  where  there  is  merit  in  letting  them  lie 
unexerted  •  and  this  he  can  have  from  art  and  those  rules  to 
guide.  A  hundred  people  know  how  to  indulge  their  natural 
powers,  for  one  who  has  the  art  to  check  them  ;  but  on  such  a 
regulation  depends  all  the  glory  of  the  finished  actor.  This 
lack  of  judgment  is  the  cause  of  many  failures  of  those  who 
attempt  to  enter  Hie  profession. 

Many  times  persons  ever  so  well  calculated  by  nature,  but 
without  advice,  fail  while  others  of  inferior  abilities  under 
instruction  succeed.  Nature  alone,  though  capable  of  doing 
much  by  guidance,  will  be  bewildered  and  lost  from  want  of 
cautions  and  direction  as  to  proper  course.  So  great  an  error 
is  it  that  nature  alone  makes  the  actor,  and  so  great  the 
advantages  which  even  the  highest  talent  will  acquire  from 
regulation. 

A  good  understanding  is  the  principal  advantage,  for  to  that 
the  actor  owes  the  proper  use  of  all  the  rest. 

It  is  necessary  that  a  man  should  comprehend  his  words 
perfectly  before  he  can  deliver  them  properly,  and  this  requires, 
among  many  poets,  this  very  understanding  most  of  all. 

Many  can  pronounce  all  the  words  but  miss  a  great  part  of 
their  true  meaning. 

The  greatest  defect  of  a  performer  is  the  not  understanding 
an  author,  for  he  cannot  have  true  feeling  without.  He  may 
substitute  rant  and  stride  but  not  be  really  the  character. 

It  is  peculiar  to  dramatic  writing,  that  the  dispositions  and 
tempers  of  the  characters  are  not  described  but  represented. 
This  the  player  is  above  all  things  to  study.  It  is  more  easy 


ACTING.  335 

where  violence  and  passion  are  pointed  out,  but  more  delicate 
and  graceful  and  often  more  great  in  the  tranquil  scene.  Here 
conies  in  judgment.  Noise  and  violence  are  not  the  certain 
marks  of  dignity.  The  divine  spirit  is  often  missed  in  the 
lightning  and  whirlwind,  to  distinguish  it  in  the  still  small 
voice.  Thus  is  shown  the  greatest  discernment  of  an  actor,  and 
his  highest  judgment  in  so  acting.  The  great  beauty  of  some 
passages  is  to  throw  off  all  that  is  understood  as  beauty  in  the- 
atrical recitation. 

The  public  of  to-day  are,  perhaps,  hardly  aware  of  the  height 
to  which  the  art  of  acting  may  rise.  Yet  those  who  have  been 
familiar  with  the  creations  of  Rachel  and  Salvini  will  not  only 
credit  the  assertion  that  the  genius  of  Mrs.  Siddons  in  repre- 
senting the  characters  of  Murphy,  Lillo,  Southerne,  and  Otway. 
was  greatly  superior  to  that  of  the  writers,  but  that,  even  when 
representing  Shakespeare,  she  supplied  much  which  enriched 
the  conceptions  of  the  poet. 

An  actor,  when  he  receives  the  manuscript,  has  to  create  his 
part  in  the  sense  of  conceiving  a  complete  human  being  who. 
under  the  given  circumstances,  employs  the  words  which  the 
author  has  supplied.  They  know  that  no  critic  could,  by  read- 
ing a  play,  evolve  a  portrait  of  the  man  whom  an  original  actor 
will  represent  as  the  embodiment  of  some  new  part.  They 
know  that  each  new  actor  of  real  merit  recreates  the  persons  of 
the  older  drama,  sending  traditions  to  the  winds,  and  produc- 
ing a  new  person  on  the  stage  using  the  old  words,  but  with 
marvelous  differences  of  manner,  voice,  gesture,  and  intonation. 
They  know  that  there  is  not  merely  one  good  way  of  represent- 
ing a  great  part,  but  as  many  ways  as  there  are  great  actors. 
Each  actor  is  bound  so  to  fashion  his  conception  that  his  own 
physical  attributes  and  mental  powers  will  lend  themselves  to 
its  execution,  and  thus  the  great  parts  on  the  French  stage  have 
bound  up  with  them  a  long  series  of  portraits  each  representing 
the  creation  of  a  separate  actor — all  the  creations  good  and  to 
be  judged  of  on  their  own  merits,  not  by  reference  simply  to 
the  mind  of  the  author. 

The  majesty  of  Shakespeare's  name  overawes  us  when  we 
hear  that  a  Mrs.  Siddons  created  a  part  which  Shakespeare 


336  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

wrote — when  we  are  told  that  an  actor's  first  business  is  not  to 
think  how  Shakespeare  conceived  his  character  as  standing  or 
looking,  but  how  he,  the  actor,  can  make  a  real  human  being 
stand  and  look  while  speaking  Shakespeare's  words.  Yet  the 
words  of  the  part  do  not  by  themselves  supply  the  actor  with 
one-hundredth  part  of  the  actions  he  has  to  perform.  Every 
single  word  lias  to  be  spoken  with  just  intonation  and  emphasis, 
while  not  a  single  intonation  or  emphasis  is  indicated  by  the 
printed  copy.  The  actor  must  find  the  expression  of  face,  the 
attitude  of  body,  the  action  of  the  limbs,  the  pauses,  the  hurries 
— the  life,  in  fact.  There  is  no  logical  process  by  which  all 
these  things  can  be  evolved  out  of  the  mere  words  of  a  part. 
The  actor  must  go  direct  to  nature  and  his  own  heart  for  the 
tones  and  action  by  which  he  is  to  move  his  audience  ;  these  his 
author  cannot  give  him,  and  in  creating  these,  if  he  be  a  great 
actor,  *his  art  may  be  supremely  great. 

In  tragedy  we  feel,  and  the  sentiment  has  all  the  praise  ;  in 
comedy  we  expect  only  to  laugh,  and  provided  we  do  so  we  are 
satisfied,  and  never  regard  whether  it  is  the  actor  or  the  part  we 
are  laughing  at,  and  the  matter  may  be,  even,  ever  so  foolish. 

The  manner  of  the  comic  actor  may  be  ever  so  faulty  and  it 
passes  unnoticed.  It  is  far  otherwise  in  tragedy.  There  the 
least  excess  is  distasteful,  and  nothing  tolerated  but  a  perfect  and 
proper  sense  of  the  character,  even  though  the  actor  may  have 
manv  excellences.  Trasredv  aims  at  the  heart,  comedv  at  the 

»/  O  V  tt 

fancy.  The  applause  for  comedy  is  more  violent,  for  tragedy 
more  felt.  In  tragedy  the  least  faults  are  shocking,  in  comedy 
very  great  ones  often  have  the  effect  of  beauties. 

Tragedy  is  in  magnificent  language,  and  will  admit  at  times 
of  pompous  and  magnificent  swellings.  It  is  creative,  beyond 
mimetic  art.  It  is  not  drama,  it  interprets  ideals  ;  its  poetry 
has  an  abstract  beauty.  It  must  glow.  It  has  a  lift  and  ela- 
tion. To  be  effective  one  must  feel  its  pangs.  It  is  not  hyster- 
ical, but  the  implacable  purpose.  It  is  like  a  statue  of  heroic 
proportions.  It  must  transport  the  soul  ;  it  must  sink  deep  ;  it 
satisfies  then  even  the  mass.  In  drama  it  is  emotion,  in  tragedy 
passion  in  all  its  awfulness  of  good  or  evil.  The  picture  of 
men's  souls  are  on  the  one,  on  the  other  shadows  of  every-day 


ACTING.  33; 

life.  Such  are  the  demands  of  tragedy  that  repose  is  often 
necessary  to  the  actor  off  the  stage  even  to  being  mute.  More 
talents  and  a  better  understanding  are  therefore  required  in 
tragedy. 

The  tragedian  must  weep  himself  to  make  others  weep  ; 
but  the  comedian  must  commonly  curb  his  own  merriment  to 
make  his  audience  laugh,  and  not  seem  to  notice  the  effect  pro- 
duced. All  must  be  done  inattentively  and  not  look  to  the 
consequences,  and  not  as  if  expecting  to  raise  a  laugh.  In  the 
tragedian  there  must  be  that  unassuming  sense  of  importance, 
a  dignity  too  great  for  pride  in  all  his  gestures  and  delivery. 
He  must  be  above  the  rest  of  mankind,  and  yet  feel  that  it  is 
only  human  nature  that  he  expresses.  It  is  not  a  flash,  but 
continued  fire, — forever  burning  on  an  altar. 

It  would  be  well  that  the  tragic  actor  preserved  this  dignity 
to  himself,  in  his  ordinary  thoughts,  but  it  ought  never  to 
escape  into  his  external  deportment  and  conversation.  Nothing 
is  so  contemptible  in  the  actor  as  not  to  be  able  to  throw  off  his 
grandeur  with  his  buskins,  but  always  appearing  to  his  friends 
as  ii  in  state,  or  giving  commands  to  inferiors,  with  the  air  of 
a  Roman  general.  There  is  nothing,  however,  so  like  true  great- 
ness as  false.  The  greatest  are  not  the  most  ostentatious  and 
lofty  in  common  affairs,  but  the  most  plain  and  humble.  In 
the  same  manner  let  the  actor  in  common  life  be  simple,  serene, 
pleasant.  Then  it  will  not  be  the  man  who  acts  but  the  char- 
acter. This  is  the  true  characteristic  which  distinguishes  the 
great  from  the  common  actor.  The  greatest  prince  that  ever 
reigned  could  never  command  a  tear,  but  the  actor  who  has 
sensibility,  and  the  power  of  feeling  what  he  is  to  represent, 
does  this  at  his  pleasure.  The  sovereign  rules  the  body,  but  he 
who  has  this  power  rules  the  heart  and  soul. 

They  are  many  who  can  feel  themselves  but  not  make  others 
feel  in  the  same  manner;  and  this  sometimes  arises  from  a  care 
in  remembering  the  words,  but  we  must  use  language  as  if  we 
did  not  know  it,  and  sometimes  from  not  understanding  the 
parts  they  attempt,  and  sometimes  from  the  terror  of  an  audi- 
ence. The  last  happens  not  only  to  a  new  player,  but  to  one 
not  established,  in  a  new  part.  While  some  are  afraid  to  exert 


338  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

their  real   talents,  because  they  doubt  their  reality,  and  will 
remain  for  years  in  this  situation  from  modesty. 

However  it  may  be  with  the  other  passions,  no  illusions  can 
be  well  sustained  in  a  love-scene,  unless  the  persons  themselves 
have  hearts  naturally  susceptible  of  the  passion.  A  man  need 
not  be  tyrannical  in  his  nature,  to  act  well  a  Richard  III.,  nor 
a  savage  to  play  a  Shylock  ;  but  to  play  a  Romeo  he  must  be  a 
lover.  In  this,  nature  can  only  keep  up  the  delusion. 

Voice  is  necessary  to  all  actors.  If  the  comedian  be  dis- 
tinct and  clear  it  is  enough  ;  but  in  tragedy  is  needed  the  full, 
sonorous,  together  with  every  variety  of  soft  and  forcible.  For 
love  smoothness  ;  for  rage  and  anger,  the  shrill,  piercing  tones  ; 
for  majesty,  the  fell,  deep  tones  ;  for  tyranny,  the  rough  notes 
but  not  necessarily  harsh. 

A  voice  under  perfect  command  and  ready  for  a  thousand 
changes  for  comedy  ;  not  too  full  and  great ;  for  people  in  com- 
edy talk  like  men,  not  like  heroes. 

Ease  is  the  character  of  comedy,  as  dignity  of  tragedy.  Let 
the  voice  for  the  one  be  familiar,  and  for  the  other  great.  In 
comedy  tender  scenes  touch,  in  tragedy  they  pierce  the  heart. 

Comedy  requires  a  melodious  voice,  such  as  can  be  heard  dis- 
tinctly, and  it  must  be  managed  gracefully.  Tragedy  requires 
a  great  voice. 

Comedy  requires  a  graceful,  genteel,  easy  figure  ;  tragedy  a 
majestic,  striking  figure.  The  representation  must  be  sup- 
ported by  external  appearances. 

Few  are  fit  for  the  profession  in  all  qualifications,  and  very 
few  for  the  higher  walks. 

The  truth  of  playing  appears  when  every  look  and  gesture, 
and  accent,  agree  with  the  condition  and  situation  of  the  char- 
acter and  the  immediate  circumstances  of  the  moment.  The 
general  character  continues  the  same,  but  the  passions  vary  it, 
in  part,  continually.  To  be  exactly  right,  is  to  act  exactly  as 
the  person  represented  would  have  done  in  the  same  circum- 
stances, and  without  restraint.  Though  he  speak  not  a  word, 
at  times,  he  may  act  expressively. 


ACTING.  339 

This  truth  of  action  consists  principally  in  three  things  ;  the 
changes  of  countenance,  attitude,  and  gesture  ;  and  all  depends 
upon  their  being  conducted  with  judgment. 

To  make  the  changes  of  countenance  to  affect  as  they  ought, 
the  passion  must  be  truly  and  forcibly  expressed  by  the  eyes. 
This  marking  a  passion  strongly  depends  most  upon  the  eyes, 
and  if  they  have  not  strength  and  vivacity,  nothing  is  possible. 
People  who  mark  things  weakly  are  not  fit  for  the  stage. 

Things  shown  there  are  seen  from  a  distance,  and  they  are 
proportioned  for  that  view.  An  expression  of  countenance  that 
does  for  conversation,  is  lost  on  the  stage.  A  Saint  Paul  of  the 
natural  size  might  have  done  for  the  choir,  but  that  for  the 
dome  needed  to  be  a  Colossus.  The  actor  is  to  consider  his 
pictures  in  this  light.  His  looks  and  gestures  are  so  many  pic- 
tures to  be  seen  at  a  distance,  and  they  must  often  be  extrava- 
gant in  themselves,  that  they  may  not  soften  into  nothing. 

All  this  must  be  done,  however,  with  judgment.  False  ap- 
prehension may  produce  exaggeration,  but  in  the  strictest  ad- 
herence to  nature's  rules,  though  on  an  enlarged  scale,  lies  this 
truth.  Enlargement  does  not  necessarily  imply  distortion,  and 
while  the  passions  animate,  they  need  not  disfigure  the  coun- 
tenance. 

By  gestures  also  can  every  passion  be  expressed.  Often  the 
actor  is  not  allowed  words,  and  when  he  is,  these  give  them 
double  force  and  energy.  Our  best  players  have  too  many  of 
them ;  but  there  are  scenes  of  passion  where  they  can  hardly 
be  too  violent. 

Ideas  can  sometimes  be  expressed,  not  found  in  the  mere 
words,  or  far  beyond,  at  least,  what  they  express. 

In  beginning  such  a  course  of  study  the  best  way  is  to  speak 
each  passage  used  as  in  common  life  ;  then  add  more  force,  pre 
serving  the  same  accent,  for  the  stage.  If  faulty  in  the  inflec- 
tions correct  them,  and  otherwise  be  simply  natural.  Tragedy 
has  no  peculiar  tone,  but  spoken  the  same  as  common  speech, 
only  with  more  energy. 

First  avoid  the  common  faults  of  the  stage,  and  the  greatest 
is  the  tope  among  the  lesser  actors.  And  when  all  formal  ca- 
dence is  laid  aside,  a  proper  understanding  of  the  passion  will 


340  ACTING    AM)    ORATORY. 

instruct  a  person  how  to  pronounce  it  naturally  ;  and  this,  en- 
larged without  distortion,  will  give  the  truth  of  expression. 

Many  have  supposed  some  thing  different  belonged  to  tragedy, 
because  of  the  grandeur  and  sublimity  of  its  manner.  But 
things  may  be  sublime  without  being  pompous. 

Force  is  not  loudness,  but  energy.  The  greatest  obstacle  is 
straining  the  voice.  Force  is  not  noise  but  is  the  abating  of 
lioi.-KTousiie.<s  rather.  In  striving  to  be  loud  persons  grow  out 
of  tune,  and  discord  is  the  result. 

When  some  violent  passion  is  to  be  expressed,  no  force  of 
voice  can  be  too  great ;  but  when  it  is  only  a  moral  sentiment,  a 
lofty  and  sonorous  voice,  and  majestic  manner,  are  bombastic 
and  ridiculous. 

We  see  the  best  actors  much  inferior  to  themselves  in  a  new 
part.  It  comes  from  the  confusion  of  not  being  certain  of  their 
memory,  rather  not  hitting  every  phase  of  the  passions. 

The  perfect  player  ought  to  know  the  substance  of  every 
person's  part  in  the  scene  as  well  as  the  words  of  his  own,  not 
like  him  who  knows  his  cues. 

As  some  actors  in  comedy  mistake  impudence  and  negligence 
for  politeness  and  ease,  so  in  tragedy,  many  mean,  by  natural 
playing,  the  putting  on  the  air  and  manner  of  a  private  person 
for  a  hero.  It  would  simply  be  the  man  not  the  character,  and 
though  called  natural,  nothing  could  be  less  so. 

Natural  acting,  when  it  flows  from  a  perfect  understanding 
of  the  whole  art  and  its  rules,  is  the  excellence  of  expression, 
but  those  who  use  the  term,  generally  employ  it  to  express  that 
dependence  upon  nature  which  excludes  all  assistance  of  art, 
and  such  nature  will  never  make  an  actor. 

That  acting  which  appears  natural,  because  divested  of  all 
pomp  and  ceremony,  is  the  greatest ;  but  natural  as  it  appears, 
it  is  the  result  of  perfect  art.  Indeed,  sometimes,  in  scenes  of 
tenderness,  the  pathos  touches  a  thousand  times  more  if  it  en- 
deavor to  be  hidden.  It  must  not  be  natural  to  the  actor  but 
natural  to  the  character,  and  this  is  what  truly  deserves  the 
name  of  natural  acting. 


FINESSE,    ETC.  341 

Force  up  to  a  c.ertain  degree,  is  strength,  and  beauty,  but 
carried  a  little  farther,  tragedy  becomes  farce.  It  is  not  then 
force  but  something  else — madness.  But  even  this  at  special 
times  is  allowable  both  in  comedy  and  tragedy. 

Finesse,  etc. 

Often  a  speech  is  very  good,  but  too  long,  and  the  finesse  of 
the  player  does  not  omit,  but  passes  lightly  over  some  lines,  and 
pronounces  others  rapidly,  yet  seems  natural  though  in  reality 
constrained.  And  a  speech  may  be  too  short  for  the  circum- 
stances, perhaps  also  too  slight ;  the  same  finesse  will  teach  him 
to  add  to  this  by  his  deliberate  enunciation,  and  weight,  by 
the  energy  it  will  bear,  though  not  absolutely  called  for.  Some 
characters  without  this  feature  in  part  would  even  appear  in- 
sipid or  languid. 

Every  man  can  talk  loud  ;  but  often  the  true  way  is  to  speak 
low,  but  forcibly,  and  sometimes  the  great  mastery  is  to  seem 
composed.  It  is  the  character  of  a  great  soul  to  be  above  dis- 
composure, unless  on  very  great  occasions  ;  and  the  character 
will  therefore  appear  the  greater,  the  less  way  is  given  to  pas- 
sion. The  greatest  designs  acquire  a  new  dignity,  when  the 
person  who  has  laid  them,  speaks  of  them  without  pride  or  os- 
tentation. The  actor  can  learn  a  lesson  from  this  ; — said  one, 
"  Sir,  do  you  not  see  the  enemy  approaching  ;  were  you  never 
in  an  engagement  before  ?  "  '•'  Yes,  in  so  many  that  I  can  see 
one  without  discomposure. "  Finesse  might  be  termed  cultivated 
nature. 

Judgment  is  necessary  to  show  where  finesse  is  to  be  used, 
and  their  quality.  A  plain  sentiment  often  needs  weight,  and 
sometimes  a  mass  of  strained  figures  can  be  passed  over  without 
effort  to  save  the  actor's  credit.  The  great  care  must  be  not  to 
lose  the  character  in  the  artifice.  Majesty,  and  dignity  must  be 
preserved,  together  with  the  address  of  the  actor.  The  occa- 
sions in  comedy  are  innumerable.  • 

Circumstances  occur  continually,  and  they  prescribe  of  them- 
selves what  shall  be  done  ;  the  actor's  great  point  is  to  have  the 
courage  to  obey  these  dictates,  however  new  or  unprecedented, 
but  they  must  be  done  discreetly  nevertheless  and  never  forced, 


342  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

nor  allowed  to  interrupt  the  scene  by  making  one  character  con- 
siderable at  the  expense  of  another.  It  is  a  good  rule  never  to 
use  finesse  but  where  the  success  is  certain  ;  otherwise  it  is  con- 
temptible. 

Stage  tricks,  by-plays,  are  not  finesse  even  though  some- 
times used  by  the  best.  The  throwing  back  the  chair  in  the 
closet-scene  in  Hamlet.  In  low-comedy  stage-tricks  might  be 
very  proper.  The  Italians  are  excellent  in  this  in  burlettas. 
etc.  Graces  to  the  tragedian  and  comedian,  stage-tricks  to  the 
low-comedian.  He  who  has  true  dignity  will  always  succeed  in 
tragedy,  and  he  who  has  elegance,  in  comedy.  The  secret  of 
success  is  in  the  culture  of  the  imagination.  If  destitute  of 
imagination  there  is  little  hope  for  the  aspirant  to  high 
honors. 

The  great  difficulty  is  to  act  according  to  natural  feeling ; 
for  it  cannot  be  so,  if  not  natural  to  common  humanity  ;  and 
it  is  difficult  to  find  this  common  feeling. 

And  the  knowledge  comes  in  part  from  precepts  and  rules 
of  taste,  which  are  founded  on  feeling,  and  not  on  demonstra- 
tive reasoning.  But  added  to  these  are  circumstances,  or  situa- 
tions which  require  the  nicest  attention. 

He  who  cannot  therefore  penetrate  into  the  spirit  of  pre- 
cepts must  be  at  fault  by  lacking  that  grasp  of  mind  which 
would  perceive,  at  a  glance,  how  conformable  these  precepts  are 
to  the  original  dictates  of  nature. 

Let  us  study  nature  forever  ;  and  he  who  studies  books  has 
the  advantage  of  studying  nature  at  every  sentence  he  reads ; 
every  time  he  doubts,  he  looks  to  nature  more  rigidly  than 
one  who  discards  books  and  trusts  to  her  alone.  The  man, 
then,  who  studies  nature  alone  and  contemns  authority,  studies 
her  only  once,  but  the  man  who  studies  through  books,  studies 
her  over  and  over,  through  the  opinions  of  others  as  well  as  by 
his  own. 

Sensibility,  the  power  of  feeling,  is  the  disposition  to  receive 
impressions  by  which  our  passions  are  affected,  and  is  possessed 
in  various  degrees  by  different  persons  ;  some  with  much,  some 
with  much  less  than  others. 


FINESSE,    ETC.  343 

It  is  in  tragedy  we  see  it  most  frequently  and  most  advan- 
tageously. It  is  distinct  from  understanding.  It  is  in  reality, 
a  giving  way  to  the  passions,  which  philosophy  would  teach  us 
to  get  the  better  of.  or  at  the  least  to  disguise.  It  is  a  total 
lack  of  self-consciousness  even  in  the  wildest  situations.  The 
actor  wrapt  in  his  performance  is  forgetful  of  time  and  place, 
and  is  careless  as  to  whether  artists  or  princes  listen. 

If  it  lack  the  essential  "something  great,"  acting,  be  it  as 
careful  and  clever  as  it  may  be,  is  not  tragic. 

Tragedians,  when  they  take  the  habit  of  kings  and  heroes, 
change  their  whole  deportment,  and  manner  of  address.  It  is 
with  them  not  the  medallion,  but  the  colossal  statue.  To  one 
of  taste  it  is  not  sublimity  eked  out  with  theatrical  tricks. 

A  tragedian  needs  the  powerful  and  reposeful  port,  the  ele- 
mental poise  and  swing  of  the  colossal  figures  of  Angelo,  the 
preponderance  of  the  universal  over  the  individual,  the  work- 
ings of  the  forces  of  nature  rather  than  the  straining  of  the 
will.  This  makes  a  personality  memorable. 

The  art  of  moving  the  passions  and  affections  of  the  soul 
like  the  strings  of  a  musical  instrument,  requires  the  touch  of  a 
masterly  and  delicate  hand  to  make  it  splendid,  ample  and 
royal.  And  when  the  world  asks  for  acting  it  accepts  only  such 
as  represents  the  genius  and  the  devotion  of  a  life. 

Nothing  contributes  more  to  the  sublime,  at  times,  than 
some  sudden  stroke  of  the  pathetic  beautifully  given.  This  sen- 
sibility and  dignity  which  characterize  an  understanding  equal 
to  the  highest  efforts  of  tragedy,  beautifully  set  off  each  other. 

One  may  read  unmoved  what  would  so  affect  another  that 
tears  would  interrupt  his  delivery  and  disturb  his  acting.  The 
perfect  player  should  have  all  the  sensibility  of  the  latter  and 
yet  perfect  command  over  it.  His  voice  may  give  the  exact 
tones,  and  his  manner  be  all  that  is  just  and  necessary  to  affect 
others.  Here  is  the  great  perfection  of  the  science.  By  such 
means  he  can  affect  others  to  the  utmost  and  not  lose  control  of 
himself.  Dignity  we  admire,  but  there  is  nothing  in  the  actor's 
art  that  produces  more  effect  than  this  duly  regulated  sensibility. 
The  two  are  distinctly  different  and  yet  both  may  be  required 
in  the  same  character.  Sensibility  is  the  greatest  for  it  takes 


341  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

hold  of  the  heart  and  carries  us  out  of  ourselves  in  the  illusion 
of  the  scene.  Even  though  the  actor  is  required  to  have  com- 
mand over  this  sensibility  there  are  passages  which  even  call  for 
the  most  reckless  abandon  to  the  feelings,  regarding  no  sway  or 
regulation  whatever,  and  instead  of  being  a  blemish  it  will  be- 
come the  greatest  beauty.  Nature  then  triumphs  over  art  and 
we  praise  it  justly.  But  such  effects,  though  exceedingly  beau- 
tiful, must  be  executed  sparingly,  and  one  must  have  the  judg- 
ment to  know  it.  Strokes  of  this,  enliven,  elevate,  but  to  eter- 
nally introduce  them  robs  them  of  all  their  force  and  merit. 
People  who  feel  the  most  are  not  always  those  who  understand 
best  what  they  read,  for  people  may  be  tender  and  foolish. 
This  sensibility  is  not  confined,  however,  merely  to  the  pathetic, 
it  must  be  compounded  of  all  the  passions  in  balance.  Even 
the  same  character  has  its  varieties. 

A  noted  French  actor,  with  less  action  than  many,  could 
stand  in  his  place  on  the  stage,  and  with  his  arms  neatly  dis- 
posed, and  without  stirring  hand  or  foot,  go  through  a  scene  of 
the  greatest  variety,  depending  mainly  on  the  expression  of  his 
countenance. 

Grief  ought  rather  to  be  read  upon  the  cheek,  love  in  the 
eye,  rage  upon  the  forehead,  than  expressed  by  violent  action, 
which  is  in  reality  none  of  them.  The  motion  of  the  arms  has 
very  little  to  do  with  grace  and  deportment.  And  yet  with  the 
French  generally,  a  great  fault  is  seeking  after  what  they  call 
spirit  and  fire,  thus  outstripping  nature. 

Mere  association  cannot  command,  at  once,  a  massive  expen- 
diture ;  we  must  first  stimulate  the  active  powers,  and  chiefly 
by  the  exciting  agency  of  a  continuing  effort.  Combatants 
strike  their  heaviest  blows  after  the  fight  has  begun. 

The  comedian  is  expected  to  feel  more  passions  than  the 
tragedian,  while  the  tragedian  must  feel  them  more  strongly. 
The  comedian  must  feel  them  like  a  common  num.  and  feel  all ; 
the  tragedian  a  few,  but  feel  them  like  a  hero. 

Nothing  is  more  dreaded  by  some  than  to  be  accused  of  in- 
sensibility ;  but  there  is  nothing  one  ought  to  avoid  so  much  as 
affectation  of  it  in  rant  and  roaring,  and  he  will  always  be 
affected  if  he  force  it. 


FINESSE,    ETC.  345 

He  who  would  excel  in  this  great  requisite  must  study  the 
need  and  extent  to  convey  the  expression  justly.  Sensibility 
without  this  may  prove  even  destructive,  for  the  best  things, 
when  perverted,  become  the  worst. 

Romeo,  on  hearing  the  death  of  Juliet,  gives  utterance  to  but 
five  words,  "  Then  I  defy  you  stars."  More  would  have  been 
impertinent.  This  is  also  too  great  a  grief  for  noisy  exclama- 
tion. We  ought  to  read  in  the  actor's  eye,  voice,  and  gesture, 
the  most  perfect  despair,  and  see  him  braving  even  heaven  in 
defiance,  but  with  strength  refusing  loudness.  Resolute,  not 
insolent,  not  broken,  but  struck  to  death  and  above  raving  about 
it,  conveying  the  terror  to  others  he  refuses  himself.  Feigning 
sensibility  is  very  common  but  as  equally  contemptible.  And 
so  delicate  is  the  line,  that  one  tear  may  be  great  Avhere  weeping 
would  weaken  the  effect.  Indeed  one  should  rather  weep  with 
the  voice  than  with  the  eyes.  It  should  be  mind  over  matter, 
soul  over  body  ;  not  yell  of  distress  even,  but  lamentation. 

As  a  rule  the  actor  is  not  to  add  or  alter  words,  but  give  ex- 
pression only.  Mr.  Barry  could  utter  the  two  words,  "  Look 
there ! "  with  such  broken,  scarcely  articulate  voice,  that  no 
words  could  possibly  express  his  anguish,  and  raised  the  mean- 
ing beyond  any  conception  in  the  bare  reading. 

It  is  not  how  much  power,  but  its  regulation.  Some  may 
have  enough,  but  the  passion  is  their  own,  not  the  character. 
It  may  be  real,  but  feeling  of  the  wrong  kind.  In  the  anger  of 
a  Icing  it  should  not  be  given  as  that  of  a  cook,  but  every  inch  a 
king.  Courage  is  one  thing  in  one  person,  and  another,  in 
another  ;  the  same  with  sorrow,  anger,  in  fact  with  all  the  pas- 
sions. Besides  there  are  parts  merely  to  be  observed,  though 
preserved.  All  are  to  be  in  keeping. 

The  gestures  are  to  be  as  much  studied  as  the  voice,  and  this, 
understanding  must  direct,  else  all  again  is  as  nothing.  Some 
passages  require  plainness  and  yet  even  these  are  full  of  beauty 
when  pronounced  properly.  In  imitative  efforts  unguided  by 
study,  we  see  only  the  man  himself,  and  sooner  or  later  the  de- 
ception vanishes. 

In  the  primitive  effects  of  movement  are  included  the  curve 
line,  and  the  dying  fall. 


346  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

A  varying  curvature  is  preferable  to  the  uniformity  of  a  cir- 
cle. To  the  curved  outline  are  added  the  associations  of  ease, 
freedom,  the  absence  of  restraint.  Straight  lines  are  unpleasing 
in  themselves.  They  suggest  severity.  The  arms  and  lower 
limbs  describe  curves  with  their  extremities.  The  movements 
as  well  as  attitudes,  of  a  graceful  form  can  hardly  be  other  than 
graceful. 

Part  of  the  expression  of  a  sufferer  is  made  up  of  postures 
and  efforts  of  a  voluntary  kind,  prompted  with  a  view  to  relief  ; 
these  vary  with  the  circumstances.  The  enhancing  additions 
may  be  found  in  the  faltering  voice,  the  burning  blush,  the  lan- 
guid, or  clouded  eye,  the  sudden  sweat,  and  mortal  paleness. 

Physiognomic  expressions  of  strength  and  weakness,  activity 
and  idleness,  and  the  pathonomic  ones  of  anger,  love,  joy  and 
grief  are  intelligible,  and  produce  the  same  class  of  impressions 
upon  all. 

Dramatic  torture  of  whatever  kind  should  never  be  long 
continued  ;  it  should  be  soon  over,  or  it  becomes  weak.  It 
should  ofterier  be  a  slight  touch  and  then  turn  to  something 
else.  In  painting,  not'  the  gash,  but  a  slight  touch  of  red. 

Sometimes,  in  the  dramatic  art,  when  the  poet  mingles  comic 
incidents  with  his  most  harrowing  scenes,  his  aim  is  not  to  vary 
the  impression,  but  to  render  sorrow  more  sorrowful,  tragedy 
more  tragic  by  contrast.  Tears  are  close  to  laughter,  and  laugh- 
ter is  close  to  tears.  It  is  light  and  shade. 

Acting  is  felicitous  adaptation  between  the  inner  and  the 
outer  man — rather  than  of  either^ pure  intellectual  or  physical 
expression.  Emotion  is  always  weakened  by  thought,  whereas 
thoughts  are  always  strengthened  by  emotion — emotion  through 
the  head  not  the  heart.  It  is  excitement,  not  magnetism. 
Passion  is  not  tradition.  It  must  be  the  superb  aplomb  of  a 
child  without  disagreeable  infatuation. 

The  reading  attentively  and  deliberately  alone,  abstracted 
from  all  other  thoughts,  heroic  poetry,  no  matter  whether  ever 
brought  directly  into  use,  is  one  great  means  of  cultivating 
general  sensibility,  sublimity  and  greatness  of  manner.  In  the 
original  (Edipus  of  Sophocles,  there  is  more  true  greatness,  and 


FINESSE,    ETC.  347 

more  real  pathos  than  all  ever  written  of  poetry.  Next  comes 
Milton's  Paradise  Lost.  In  this  there  is  more  magnificence, 
more  sublimity  than  anything  of  English.  There  are  passages 
that  will  affect  the  heart,  that  has  true  sensibility,  more  strongly 
than  any  that  occur  in  our  best  tragedies.  He  who  has  but  the 
seeds  of  this  great  quality  in  him,  if  he  will  in  perfect  retire- 
ment, with  a  mind  divested  of  all  other  thoughts,  read  daily 
from  this  great  poem,  stop  at  the  passages  which  affect  him 
most,  which  fill  his  heart  with  greatness,  and  his  eyes  with  tears 
of  admiration,  which  elevate  and  carry  him  out  of  himself,  he 
will  soon  find  those  seeds  dilate  and  grow  within  him. 

"When  affected  thus  let  nature  have  full  scope.  Never  read 
them  over  the  second  time  for  the  first  effect  is  the  greatest. 

Give  way  without  restraint  to  the  emotions  and,  without 
adding  or  abridging,  throw  all  into  action.  This  should  not  be 
minutely  done  but  as  a  whole.  Repeat  and  encourage  the 
whole  ;  and  by  such  a  practice  will  be  acquired  the  habit  of 
giving  a-loose  on  the  stage  when  needed.  The  action  and  ex- 
pression  will  arise  from  the  occasion,  unstudied,  unpremedita- 
ted, and  as  it  were  natural ;  and  being  so  will  produce  the  effect 
desired.  This  is  the  character  of  true  sensibility. 

One  with  natural  sensibility  indulging  such  feelings  will 
find  his  mind  enlarge  and  dilate,  and  take  in  sensations  he 
never  knew  before  and  for  which  there  is  no  name.  It  will 
reject  what  is  low  and  mean  and  indulge  itself  only  in  what  is 
magnificent  and  sublime.  It  will  dignify  all  the  passions  to 
those  of  heroes  alone.  The  expression  will  be  that  of  ease,  for 
it  will  be  natural,  not  of  artifice,  and  rise  out  of  the  occasion. 
The  sensibility  of  a  great  mind  must  be  great.  When  tears, 
let  them  be,  "  Tears  such  as  angels  shed."  And  even  of  these 
but  a  few,  and  but  for  a  moment. 

The  actor  should  obtain  a^complete  command  over  all  that 
tends  to  debase  his  mind,  otherwise  his  character  will  be  blended 
with  the  grosser  ideas  and  be  spoiled  proportionally  as  they 
control  him. 

An  actor  has  no  right  to  be  affected,  at  the  same  time,  with 
a  personal  passion;  his  only  thought  is  the  portrayal  of  the 


348  ACTING    AXD    ORATORY. 

character  and  its  expression.  The  passions  and  concerns  of  the 
man  are  not  to  affect  those  of  the  actor.  His  should  be  too 
manly  a  constancy  of  mind  to  let  anything  in  ordinary  life 
ruffle,  or  in  any  manner  affect  the  temper.  This  serenity  of 
mind,  in  real  life,  gives  full  scope  to  every  assumed  passion, 
and  allows  that  more  consummate  spirit  and  propriety. 

Fire. — An  actor  may  have  understanding  and  sensibility, 
and  after  all  be  lacking  still  in  one  great  essential,  and  that  is 
spirit,  or  fire  ;  call  it  fire.  False  fire  is  the  copper,  and  has  not 
the  ring  of  the  true  golden  metal. 

The  actor  of  true  spirit,  when  it  is  directed  by  understand- 
ing, and  awakened  by  sensibility,  is  no  longer  seemingly  him- 
self, when  he  assumes  his  character  ;  he  seems  to  be  the  char- 
acter, and  he  lives,  not  acts  the  scene.  He  glows  with  trans- 
ports not  his  own,  and  treads  the  earth  with  majesty  that 
is  real. 

There  are  passages  where  no  fire  can  be  too  much,  and  he 
who  has  understanding  and  sensibility  combined  with  it  can 
never  be  at  fault. 

The  business  of  the  stage  is  with  the  passions ;  but  the 
strained  look,  contorted  gesture,  and  roaring  voice  are  not  fire. 
An  actor  owes  his  best  more  to  true  fire  than  any  other  quality. 
It  consists  in  a  daring  spirit,  a  vivacity  of  imagination,  and  a 
rapidity  of  thought,  that  have  no  connection  with  noise  and 
bluster,  though  they  are  continually  connected  with  it,  and  mis- 
taken for  it. 

Sometimes  this  fire  is  to  be  exerted  by  degrees  ;  it  is  to  be 
graded  from  the  most  slight  step  to  the  most  exalted  height. 
Those  who  have  feeling  without  fire,  are  not  able  to  give 
expression  ;  and  those  with  whom  spirit  gets  the  better  of  sen- 
sibility always  let  it  run  into  excess. 

The  first  thing  is  to  possess  a  sufficient  portion  of  this  Pro- 
methean heat,  and  then  to  be  able  to  regulate  it  with  discretion. 
The  man  who  feels  in  himself  this  sensibility  and  fire,  who  glows 
in  seeing  a  good  performance,  need  not  be  discouraged  from  at- 
tempting to  shine  in  the  profession. 


THE  FACE.  349 


The  Face. 

It  is  well  also  to  have  the  piercing  eye  and  a  countenance 
formed  for  expression,  although  it  can  be  cultivated  if  one  has 
the  other  qualities.  Persons  may  have  a  fine  stage  face  and  yet 
not  be  fine  looking,  for  it  is  at  a  distance  that  a  player  is  seen, 
and  then  there  is  the  advantage  of  lights  in  a  particular  situa- 
tion, yet  some  please  better  with  their  manners  than  figure,  but 
generally  features  a  little  larger  and  stronger  than  symmetry 
would  authorize,  are  the  best. 

The  study  of  facial  expression  itself  is  an  essential  part  of 
acting.  The  play  of  feature  is  seen  in  some  persons  to  be 
originally  very  various  and  flexible ;  in  fact,  the  characteristic 
of  flexibility  is  best  understood  by  noticing  the  features  of  a 
good  actor,  and  comparing  them  with  those  of  an  immovable 
countenance.  It  is  possible  to  be  faultily  faultless,  and  yet 
careful  study  of  the  facial  expression  of  others,  and  above  all 
untiring  practice  in  the  methods  of  delineation,  with  imagina- 
tion, accomplishes  marvels. 

Barristers  and  physicians — men  who  seem  to  turn  their 
faces,  like  their  minds,  to  the  critical  questions  they  have  to 
work  out — silently  acquire  the  intelligent  air  as  of  those  who 
think  and  have  thought ;  but  the  actor's  face  shows  this  more 
pointedly,  because  he  has  to  consider  his  face,  as  he  thinks  and 
feels,  and  tries,  often  instinctively,  to  make  it  correspond  with 
what  is  within.  These  efforts,  this  old  "  purifying  the  passions 
with  pity  and  terror,"  form  a  process  that  tells  upon  the  lines 
and  cordage  of  the  face,  as  training  does  on  the  athlete  ;  all  the 
unintelligent  fat  and  flesh  seems  to  wear  off.  It  is,  moreover, 
some  test  of  the  truth  of  physiognomy  that  all  great  actors  have 
come  to  their  profession  with  fine  faces,  that  is,  with  effective 
features,  large  and  well  cut,  that  offer  shadows.  Hardly  one 
fails  in  this  respect.  But  this  characteristic  is  capable  of  extra- 
ordinary development  witli  long  and  varied  practice. 

Garrick's  was  a  massive  face,  with  a  quick  vivacity  in  the 
movements  of  the  neck  ;  eyes  of  startling  brilliancy,  with  a 
darting,  searching  expression,  which  he  was  fond  of  applying ; 
with  recesses  about  his  lips,  where  lurked  the  humors  of  com- 


350  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

^ 

edy ;  while  in  his  brow,  full  and  overarching,  lay  vast  tragic 
forces.  The  muscles  of  his  cheeks  seemed  flexible  to  an  extra- 
ordinary degree,  and  were  as  expressive  as  any  other  part  of  his 
action  and  his  voice.  These  were  prodigious  advantages. 

Le  Kain,  Talma,  Betterton,  Henderson  and  others,  found 
the  plainness  of  their  features  no  obstruction  to  the  full  dis- 
play of  those  emotions  which  deep  study  awakened. 

Delsarte's  System. — Synopsis. 

He  who  rejects  Time,  Time  rejects. 

Art  is  motion  passed  through  thought  and  fixed  in  form. 
Its  acme  is  the  motion  subjected  to  the  deepest  scrutiny  of 
thought  and  fixed  in  the  noblest  form. 

The  trinity  is  the  immutable  law  which  governs  all  develop- 
ments. This  is  a  light  showing  the  source  of  all  harmonies. 
The  principles  must  be  co-existent,  co-necessary,  co-efficient. 

Dramatic  expression  is  a  manifestation  of  thought  by  move- 
ment, and  its  science  and  art  cover  the  agents  it  employs  and 
the  forms  it  assumes. 

Human  nature  is  a  form  of  being  that  lives,  thinks  and 
loves.  The  vital,  the  mental,  and  the  affectional.  The  life, 
mind  and  soul.  These  are  intermixed  and  exhibit  phases  of 
each  other.  Vitality  is  the  source  of  passion,  of  sensation,  of 
feeling,  but  has  instinct,  which  is  the  mind  of  the  vital,  and 
sympathy,  which  is  its  soul.  Induction  is  the  mind  of  the  mind, 
but  judgment  is  its  vitality  and  conscience  its  soul.  Love  is 
the  soul  of  the  soul,  but  affection  is  its  vitality,  and  intuition 
its  mind. 

In  the  VITAL  the  mouth  expresses  the  repellent ;  the  con- 
tented or  excitability,  in  the  trembling  of  the  lips.  The  shoul- 
der shows  sentiment,  and  may  be  taken  as  the  thermometer  of 
passion.  The  wrist  expresses  vital  energy. 

In  the  MENTAL,  the  eyes  express  the  mind,  as  contentment, 
observation,  stupor ;  the  hand,  exasperation,  prostration,  or 
struggle  ;  the  legs,  action,  vehemence,  firmness,  or  prostration. 

In  will,  the  head  shows  great  will  or  its  absence  ;  when  ex- 
alted, defiance  or  energy.  The  nose  expresses  sentiment,  in- 
sensibility, scorn,  hate. 


DELSARTE'S  SYSTEM.  351 

There  are  three  zones  in  the  vital.  The  abdominal,  sensu- 
ality ;  the  soul  of  passion,  and  the  respiratory  zone,  honor  and 
esteem. 

The  mental  zones,  occipital ;  the  temporal,  cunning,  specula- 
tion ;  parietal,  conscience. 

The  soul  zones,  interior  maxillary,  sensual,  or  affectionate  ; 
superior  maxillary,  moral,  sympathetic  ;  the  frontal,  reflective. 

The  science  of  expression  is  composed  of  active  and  passive 
agents,  of  opposites  as  well  as  amities.  The  law  of  equilibrium 
is  the  law  of  opposition.  In  saluting  we  do  not  bend  the  head, 
arms  and  body  in  the  same  direction,  but  opposite  to  make  it 
graceful. 

Three  forms  of  movement ;  eccentric,  concentric,  normal. 
First,  expansion  ;  second,  contraction  ;  third,  between  these. 
Head  bowed  in  thought ;  raised  in  action.  Trinities  and  op- 
posites. 

In  sculpture,  it  is  the  suiting  of  expression  to  the  mind,  of 
attitude  and  drapery  to  expression.  In  painting,  the  composing 
and  grouping.  In  speech,  the  suiting  of  the  action  to  the  word, 
the  sound  to  the  sense.  In  poetry,  (music  and  painting,)  the 
scope  for  fine  harmonies  has  no  limit. 

A  man  may  have  a  mind  of  extraordinary  opulence  of  con- 
ceptions, but  with  little  gesthetic  sensibility  in  their  employment. 
Thus  an  artist  of  high  genius  may  be  inferior  to  an  uncreative 
mind,  in  taste,  the  only  characteristic  of  fine  art.  The  prime 
requisite  is  delicate  sensibility  ;  that  being  present,  the  active 
organ  will  be  moved  to  the  best  of  its  powers,  and  improved  by 
use.  The  sensibility  to  stage  display  is  one  of  the  many  sesthetic 
elements  of  the  mind,  and  when  accompanied  with  the  requisite 
active  endowments,  lays  the  foundation  of  the  actor;  without 
the  corresponding  active  organs,  it  would  be  merely  a  strong 
play-going  taste.  One  must  have  the  poetry  of  acting. 

The  characters  of  Shakespeare  do  not  declaim  like  boys,  but 
speak  and  act  like  men,  in  real  life,  with  real  hearts  of  flesh 
and  blood.  In  Macbeth  an  actor,  to  realize  the  character,  must 
look  like  a  man  who  has  encountered  the  weird  sisters.  There 
should  be  nothing  tight  or  compact,  no  tenseness  of  fibre,  nor 


352  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

pointed  decision  of  manner.  All  his  energy  and  manliness  of 
soul  are  subject  to  all  the  skyey  influences.  He  is  sure  of  noth- 
ing. All  is  left  at  issue.  He  runs  a-tilt  with  fortune,  and  is 
baffled  with  preternatural  riddles.  The  agitation  of  his  mind 
resembles  the  rolling  of  the  sea  in  a  storm  ;  or,  he  is  like  a  lion 
in  the  toils — fierce,  impetuous  and  ungovernable.  In  the  last 
act,  busy  and  turbulent,  a  giddy  whirl  to  the  desperate  end. 

In  double  acting  never  betray  to  audience  more  than  to  fel- 
low actors,  but  in  soliloquies,  the  most  difficult  of  all  acting, 
only,  appear  true  character.  In  villains  no  discernment ;  man- 
ner fathomless  ;  mystery  to  all.  That  Othello  sees  in  lago  an 
honest  man  is  the  fact ;  that  we  see  a  villain  is  the  truth. 

In  Macbeth  the  hallucination  of  the  dagger  is  the  idea,  con- 
verted into  material  impression.  The  "  sleep-walking  scene," 
is  intermediate  between  sensation  and  conception.  In  som- 
nambulism the  eyes  are  fixed,  sometimes  closed, — the  counte- 
nance moves  to  changes  of  sentiment,  and  the  appearance  is,  in 
a  measure,  as  of  reality,  but  the  movements  are  involuntary. 
The  speech  resembles  reveries  of  absent-minded  persons,  or,  at 
times,  even  the  ravings  of  maniacs,  or  lispings  of  idiots  ;  the 
voice  usually  natural ;  the  action  automatic,  senses  apathetic. 
The  person  moves  in  straight  lines  ;  not  around  objects,  and  if 
in  the  way,  pushes  against  them,  and  perhaps  bursts  into  tears. 
The  hands  are  used  as  when  employed. 

In  ordinary  acting  there  must  be  exaggeration  to  produce 
tin  effect  which  shall  not  seem  exaggerated,  as  can  be  seen  in 
the  case  of  amateurs  doing  so  simple  a  thing  as  walking  across 
the  stage,  which  itself  requires  acting  to  look  like  ordinary 
walking.  Players  are  not  seen  under  the  ordinary  conditions  of 
life.  They  are  placed  in  a  conspicuous  position,  with  a  strong 
light  on  them  and  every  motion  brought  into  prominence.  The 
mere  careless  tones  of  every-day  life  would  not  do  for  the  thea- 
tre, and  must  be  overdone  to  attract  attention  and  have  weight. 
Here  comes  the  abuse.  The  true  actor  learns  nicely  the  exact 
force  and  weight  of  such  exaggeration  and  proportions,  so  that 
it  does  not  seem  unnatural.  The  vulgar  actor  makes  himself 
more  conspicuous  and  bellows  and  mouths,  and  strides  and 
stamps. 


DELSART&S    SYSTEM.  353 

Iii  comedy  the  most  exquisite  humor  is  that  which  provokes 
the  least  mirth  ;  not  external  but  laughter  of  the  mind.  The 
secret  of  interest  is  the  candor,  not  the  manner  of  revelation. 
Once  let  affectation  overlay  what  is  being  told,  and  it  becomes 
so  much  deceit.  It  is  not  color  and  light.  It  must  not  be 
heavy,  laborious,  stilted,  stiff,  the  stereotyped  sufferings  of 
heroes  in  stalkings  and  mou things.  Never  to  audience  but  to 
fanciful  hearers.  Fine  theatrical  art  is  the  struggling  to  keep 
back  as  much  as  is  expressed — itulicatiiiy  rather  giving  emotion. 
It  should  be  disciplined  fury,  suppressed  agitation,  half  revealed 
in  eyes,  mouth,  figure,  attitude;  sometimes  shrinking  in  terror, 
— or  a  torrent  of  words  stumbling  and  tripping  over  each  other  ; 
or  unconscious  retreating  and  cowering  ;  life-like  air  ;  nothing 
conventional,  but  as  in  real  situation,  even  to  trifles  like  the 
tying  and  untwisting  of  a  handkerchief,  or  going  to  a  door  in 
uncertainty,  or  not  knowing  what  to  do  or  say. 

An  amateur  cannot  impart  weight  to  the  most  trivial  sen- 
tence. He  knows  not  the  secret,  the  measure  of  the  coarse 
strokes.  It  does  not  follow  that  the  born  gentleman  will  ap- 
pear a  gentleman  on  the  stage  with  better  effect  than  the 
actor  who  imitates  one.  Real  acting  is  to  show  human  nature  ; 
human  character.  Then  there  is  dignity,  command,  power. 
Heal  acting  is  not  ^//"-exhibition  ;  it  is  an  appeal  to  the  intel- 
lect, and  the  passions.  Self  is  but  the  means.  Some  actors 
have  not  the  power  to  color  a  part.  They  cannot  grasp  the 
idea.  They  "make-up,"  and  have  this  "speech"  and  that 
"tell"  but  seem  to  have  no  study  and  observation. 

All  art  acquires  its  greatest  effects  by  contrast.  Trifles  help 
us  to  get  at  real  dramatic  principles. 

In  acting,  the  colors  and  strokes  should  be  thick  and  large 
and  strong,  which  at  a  distance  appear  delicate  and  refined  ; 
even  facial  expression,  but  all  must  be  governed  by  nice  rules. 
Heal  acting  is  speaking  in  its  intelligence,  in  its  vivacity,  and 
produces  lines  and  channels  of  thought,  and  restless  ideas,  wear- 
ing into  the  very  cheeks.  The  roving,  brilliant  eyes ;  the  lips 
eloquent  ;  all  by  sheer  training  and  intellect  to  force  the  fea- 
tures to  signify  what  is  represented.  This  triumphs  over  the 
space  of.  a  theatre.  So  also  with  the  voice  to  fill  the  largest 


354  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

building.  Steady,  massive.  Faces  now  on  the  stage  are  smooth, 
in  tedious  sameness.  No  weight,  no  interest.  It  is  dress,  scen- 
ery. Tame,  tranquil  bearing  is  not  dramatic.  It  must  be  sit- 
uation and  character.  Many  aim  at  mere  correctness  and  con- 
sider it  natural  and  easy.  Soul  of  knowledge  is  the  secret  of 
secrets ;  it  is  spirit  not  flesh.  Some  imagine  the  less  experience 
they  have  in  acting  the  more  they  know  of  it,  and  that  the  more 
experience  people  have  in  criticism  the  less  they  know  of  it. 
They  repay  forbearance  of  lenient  judges  by  abusing  them  for 
want  of  capacity.  There  are  always  some  ready  to  be  ardent 
advocates  of  what  is  to  them  new  and  unintelligible.  If  they 
affect  to  comprehend  what  is  to  most  persons  obscure,  they  ac- 
quire a  certain  agreeable  fillip  to  their  vanity,  and  a  certain 
amount  of  conspicuousness  ;  and  with  the  uninstructed  this  may 
pass  for  magnificence.  A  revolt  against  recognized  laws  or 
usages,  no  matter  how  good  or  right  they  may  be,  always  has 
charms  for  those  who,  having  much  ambition  and  little  knowl- 
edge, fail  to  distinguish  between  aspiration  and  imprudence, 
between  courage  and  temerity.  To  such  philosophers,  neo- 
phytes, who  seek  to  grasp  in  a  day  the  sweets  and  laurels  of  a 
life-time,  can  always  safely  appeal,  and  it  is  only  by  the  bitter 
test  of  experience  that  the  applause  of  a  whole  army  of  these  phi- 
losophers is  considerably  less  than  worthless.  The  path  to  real 
success  is  hard  and  flinty,  and  not  strewn  with  primroses.  To 
be  sure  it  was  the  formalism  of  Kemble,  as  well  as  his  own  fiery 
genius,  that  helped  to  make  Kean,  but  this  does  not  always 
follow. 

Yet  love,  hate,  and  joy  are  not  to  be  expressed  by  un deviat- 
ing mathematical  laws.  It  is  inspirational,  not  progressive. 

As  a  rule  much  mischief  is  done  by  the  majority  of  teachers. 
Generally,  what  they  have  taught  has  to  be  unlearned  before 
the  pupil  can  act.  Human  idiosyncracies  differ,  and  to  famil- 
iarize expression  by  inflexible  rules  is  to  produce  the  artificial. 

Failure  in  acting. — This  arises  sometimes  not  from  lack  of 
feeling,  for  there  may  be  plenty  of  it,  but  inability  to  impart  it 
to  others.  It  is  not  strong  excitement  and  hurried  recitation 
of  the  lines,  but  methodical  training  and  even  assumption  of 
passion,  better  than  the  unskilled,  but  genuine.  Natural  on 


DELSARTE'S  SYSTEM.  355 

stage  does  not  mean  individual  peculiarities  and  deficiencies. 
Innate  dramatic  force  and  fire  cannot  take  proper  shape  unaided  ; 
it  requires  polish.  It  is  apprenticeship  to  toilsome  drudgery. 
The  sudden  flashes  which  electrify  the  world  are  the  carefully 
prepared  result  of  long  years  of  training.  Fanny  Kemble 
walked  about  her  house  every  day  for  three  years,  in  the  dress 
of  a  tragedy  queen,  that  she  might  acquire  ease  in  these  unusual 
garments.  She  looked  a  queen  when  she  appeared.  This 
minute  training  was  given  to  every  word  and  movement. 

Earnestness  will  be  undaunted  before  any  criticism.  It  will 
not  be  disturbed  in  the  most  delicate  and  sensitive  processes  of 
mind.  It  will  not  be  harassed  by  undue  self-distrust.  It  will 
rather  be  invigorated  and  quickened  in  power,  and  made  more 
natural,  and  self-possessed,  fearless  and  ardent.  It  will  be  per- 
fectly careless  of  criticism  and  expect  success.  It  will  give  no 
special  thought  to  the  perfection  of  finish,  but  get  as  much  as 
possible  without  being  hindered.  If  criticism  comes  it  will 
bear  it  and  never  be  overcome  by  it.  It  will  be  like  the  blast  of 
the  storm-wind  to  the  eagle  ;  a  force  against  him  that  lifts  him 
higher. 

Experience  will  often  find  that  it  was  the  yery  criticism 
which  stung  which  brought  it  to  what  it  is.  Forget  unjust 
criticism,  but  when  just,  reap  whatever  of  personal  benefit  you 
can.  Success  is  certain  in  the  end.  Seize  it  with  your  hope 
beforehand. 

Lack  of  preparation  generally  gives  a  bald  and  very  com- 
monplace repetition  of  merely  the  text ;  there  can  in  fact  be  no 
character  at  all  in  the  performance,  which  is  usually  disappoint- 
ing to  all.  It  must  be  every  word,  every  pause,  for  the  very 
pauses  have  eloquence. 

When  you  act  do  not  trouble  yourself  as  to  who  is  listening, 
yet  always  act  as  though  before  the  greatest  and  the  best. 

Perfection  comes  through  series  of  disgusts.  Sources  of  ex- 
pression should  be  tracked  to  their  subtlest  retreats.  Enthu- 
siasm comes  of  heat  of  blood,  reinforcing  the  purer  motions  of 
the  intellect  with  almost  physical  excitement.  Beauty  of  art  is 
higher  sensibility  than  nature  ;  the  tears  at  the  play  have  no 
pain.  On  how  fine  a  needle's  point  shades  are  balanced.  Noth- 


356  ACT1.\<;    AM)    O 

ing  accidental  which  distracts  the  simple  effect  of  the  supreme 
i  \ •}<(.-<.  Transitory,  never  fixed.  To  all  but  the  highest  culture, 
the  reserved  faces  of  the  gods  have  something  of  insipidity. 
Ne\er  abandonment  to  one  special  gift.  That  naive,  rough 
sense  of  freedom  limited  by  a  will  stronger  than  one's  own.  Natu- 
ral laws  we  never  shall  modify,  embarrass  us  as  they  may,  but 
there  is  something  noble,  or  less  so,  in  the  attitude  with  which 
we  watch  their  fatal  combinations.  Who,  if  he  foresaw  all, 
would  fret  against  circumstances  which  endow  one  at  the  end 
with  so  high  an  experience.  Always  at  the  focus  where  the 
greatest  number  of  vital  forces  unite  in  their  purest  energy. 
To  burn  always  with  this  hard,  gem-like  flame,  to  maintain  this 
ecstasy,  is  success  in  life.  Catch  at  every  exquisite  passion,  or 
contribution  to  knowledge  that  seems  by.  a  lifted  horizon  to  set 
the  spirit  free  for  a  moment.  Discriminate  every  moment  some 
passionate  attitude  in  those  about  us.  in  the  brilliance  of  their 
gifts,  some  tragic  dividing  of  forces,  sense  of  the  splendor  of 
our  experience.  No  sacrifice  of  any  part  of  this  experience,  in 
consideration  of  some  interest  into  which  we  cannot  enter,  or 
some  abstract  morality  we  have  not  identified  with,  ourselves,  or 
what  is  conventional,  has-  real  claim  upon  us.  Some  listless, 
some  in  high  passions  ;  the  wisest  in  art  and  song.  High  pas- 
sions give  one  this  quickened  sense  of  life,  ecstasy  and  sorrow 
of  love,  or  enthusiasm  of  humanity.  Only  be  sure  it  is  passion, 
that  it  yields  you  this  fruit  of  a  quickened,  multiplied  conscious- 
ness. The  poetic  passion,  the  desire  of  beauty,  the  love  of  art 
for  art's  sake — art  professes  frankly  to  give  nothing  but  the 
highest  quality  of  life  for  life's  sake. 

In  Rubens'  martyrs  we  see  bodies  free  of  all  social  restraint 
or  interference.  Their  careless  drapery  is  not  an  obstruction 
but  rather  a  decoration.  Nowhere  have  freer  attitudes,  more 
impetuous  action,  more  vigorous  and  ampler  muscles  been 
found.  In  his  female  saints  the  fuming  wine  of  health  and  joy- 
ousness  circulates  impetuously  ;  it  overflows  like  superabundant 
sap  in  splendid  carnations,  in  unrestrained  gestures,  in  the  su- 
perb fury  of  excitement. 

One  may  not  be  wanting  in  inspiration  ;  he  may  have  it  in 
a  natural  and  vigorous  way  ;  he  may  have  talent ;  noble  feelings 


DELSARTE'S  SYsn-;.ir.  357 

may  flit  obscurely  through  the  depths  of  the  soul,  but  processes 
may  yet  be  unknown  to  him  ;  he  may  not  know  how  to  exter- 
nally express  his  ideas  and  how  to  employ  his  resources. 

Greek  tragedy — a  dithyrambic  chant,  with  gigantic  forms  of 
divine  or  heroic  legend  in  their  full  stature,  when  fatality,  ar- 
biter of  human  life  and  justice,  spun  and  cut  the  threads  of 
destiny,  to  the  sounds  of  a  poesy  obscure  like  an  oracle,  terrible 
as  a  prophecy,  and  sublime  as  a  vision. 

Gusto. — The  blood  circulating  in  the  blue  veins,  the  rest 
distinguished  only  by  that  tingling  sensation  to  the  eye  which 
the  body  feels  within  itself.  This  is  gusto ;  an  internal,  living 
principle.  Not  smooth  surface,  but  warm,  moving  mass. 
Michael  Angelo's  forms  full  of  gusto.  They  everywhere  obtrude 
the  sense  of  power  upon  the  eye.  His  limbs  convey  an  idea  of 
muscular  strength,  moral  grandeur,  even  intellectual  dignity  ; 
firm,  broad,  massy.  They  express  energy  with  sensibility, — 
Correggio's  exquisite  sensibility.  Sentiment  enough  in  a  hand 
of  his  to  set  up  a  school  of  painters. 

The  actor  who  is  content  with  what  does  not  satisfy  himself 
is  not  an  artist  but  an  artisan  ;  for  though  his  reward  be  only 
praise,  his  pay  is  that  of  a  mechanic  for  his  time,  not  his  art. 

Popularity  sometimes  kills  ambition,  spoils  study,  creates 
unwillingness  to  practice  expression  of  conceptions.  It  is  soul 
hampered  by  the  flesh.  Popularity  closes  the  door  on  genius  ; 
it  is  riot  for  other  minds  but  our  own.  Reputation  is  not  fame. 
Reputation  is  of  to-day.  Fame  is  the  eternal  shadow  of  excel- 
lence. It  is  only  visible  in  the  light  of  an  intellect  kindred  with 
that  of  its  author.  It  is  infinitely  beyond  merely  pleasing  the 
public. 

All  excellence  is  but  variety  of  truth.  That  beyond  the 
truth  is  false.  How  little  then  is  there  of  truth  in  art,  but  how 
much  is  that  little  to  him  who  feels  it.  In  search  of  truth  the 
only  competition  worthy  of  a  man  is  with  himself. 

He  that  has  no  pleasure  in  looking  up,  is  not  fit  to  look 
down  ;  he  is  only  a  mannerist  in  art. 

Before  we  can  think  rightly,  we  must  feel  deeply.  Sorrow 
makes  our  experience,  teaches  us  to  feel  properly.  It  is  not  in 
the  tempest  of  passions  we  can  reflect, — but  when  they  have 


358  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

passed  over  our  soul.  The  thoughts  that  follow  are  like  rich 
gems  from  the  wreck  that  the  wild  waves  wash  ashore.  Such 
are  the  thoughts  left  by  the  retiring  passions. 

Keflection  is  the  result  of  feeling ;  from  that  absorbing, 
heart-rending  compassion  for  one's  self,  springs  a  deeper  sym- 
pathy for  all.  When  once  we  have  shed  those  inexpressibly 
bitter  tears,  which  fall  unregarded,  and  which  we  forget  to  wipe 
away,  how  we  shudder  at  unkindness,  and  think  all  harshness, 
even  in  thought,  cruelty.  The  lessons  of  sorrow  are  as  old  as 
the  world  itself.  The  natural  influence  of  weeping  over  the 
misfortunes  and  wrongs  or  worshipping  the  virtues  of  a  saintly 
sufferer,  who  resists  not,  complains  not,  resents  not,  but  bears 
all  with  angelic  patience,  sweetness,  and  fortitude,  is  to  soften 
and  expand  the  heart  and  cultivate  the  tenderest  graces  of 
human  nature. 

'It  is  the  artist's  lofty  mission  to  shed  light  on  the  depths  of 
the  human  heart.  He  does  it  with  his  heart's  blood,  the  essence 
of  his  being ;  and  he  gives  his  best  to  the  world. 

The  merely  mechanical  actor  often  loses  in  the  tumult  of  the 
world,  his  most  priceless  possession — that  ingenuous,  unaffected, 
cheerful  art-power,  until  it  is  completely  buried  under  the  rou- 
tine of  life,  while  an  artistic  nature  preserves  its  inward,  ele- 
vated freshness  entire. 

It  is  not  mere  flexibility  and  execution,  but  a  man's  own 
nature  can  be  mirrored  in  his  acting.  It  must  be  raised  above 
judgment  to  enjoyment.  True  talent  takes  time  captive.  But 
the  bell  must  freely  swing  if  it  is  to  sound.  First  win, 
then  reject  originality.  Eventually  comes  technical  repose 
which  betrays  perfected  schooling.  Excess  of  power  falls 
back  on  itself  at  last ;  yet  stands  forth  complete  and  assured. 
No  one  does  more  than  he  knows.  No  one  knows  more  than 
he  does. 

The  Hands. 

"When  meditating  intensely,  a  slow  stretching  out,  or  apply- 
ing of  the  hands  to  the  bosom,  before  utterance,  produces  pro- 
found emotion. 

The  open  hand  expresses  joy,  confidence,  abandon.     The 


THE    HANDS.  359 

dosed,  vexation,  doubt,  suspicion  ;  and  when  these  are  strongly 
felt  the  fingers  are  firm  against  the  palm. 

He  who  intends  to  deceive,  instinctively  hides  the  palm. 
•'•'My  word  of  honor,"  says  the  sincere  man  with  open  hand. 
"  I  swear  it,"  says  the  villain,  with  hands  on  breast  palms  down- 
ward. 

He  who  keeps  his  own  counsel  and  will  joins  his  fingers, 
palms  downwards  concentratingly. 

He  who  yields  his  soul  and  abandons  itself  to  another,  turns 
palms  up,  and  extends  his  fingers. 

Invocation  and  prayer  hands  open,  fingers  apart. 

Faith,  Hope,  Charity,  open  hands  ;  acts  of  will,  resolve,  unite 
the  fingers  ;  Anger  clenches. 

The  peasant  gesticulates  with  the  whole  body  ;  the  mechanic 
with  his  arms  ;  the  man  of  the  world  with  his  hands  ;  the  diplo- 
mat with  his  fingers  ;  sometimes  only  with  eyes. 

The  Neapolitans  are  extremely  quick,  sharp,  and  intelligent. 
They  are  the  only  people  in  Europe  who  can  express  to  each 
other  their  inmost  thoughts  by  a  mere  lifting  of  the  eyebrows 
or  a  movement  of  the  hand. 

The  cultivated  actor  may  study  a  work  of  Kaphael,  the 
painter  a  play  of  Shakespeare  with  equal  advantage.  In  the 
sculptor  the  actor's  art  becomes  fixed,  the  actor  transforms  the 
sculptor's  work  into  living  forms,  the  painter  turns  a  poem  into 
a  painting,  the  musician  sets  a  picture  to  music. 

The  aesthetic  principle  is  the  same  in  every  art ;  only  the 
material  differs. 

The  finished  actor  should  have  an  eye  for  the  glowing  tints 
and  flowing  lines  of  Painting,  the  proportions  of  Architecture, 
and  the  symmetry  of  Statuary;  an  ear  for  the  ravishing  delights 
of  Music  ;  a,  perception  of  the  vital  graces  of  look,  attitude,  and 
motion,  far  above  all  that  the  theatre  can  teach  him  ;  and  a  soul 
tremblingly  alive  to  all  the  enthusiasm  of  Poetry,  and  all  the 
poignancy  of  sentiment  and  pathos. 

Eloquence  derives  her  rhythm  from  music,  her  imagery  from 
poetry,  her  graphic  descriptions  from  painting.  Dancing  com- 
bines poetry  with  motion  and  gesture,  regulated  by  music. 


360  ACTIXG    AXD    O 

Sculpture  lends  her  aid  to  architecture  ;  and  the  eclectic  art  of 
Drama  unites  them  all. 

With  all  his  study,  an  actor  is  not  always  the  most  compe- 
tent judge  of  the  value  of  his  own  acting,  and  it  frequently 
happens  that  he  may  fail  in  a  role  without  being  aware  of  it. 
He  feels  that  he  alone  can  appreciate  the  grandeur  of  his  aim, 
the  earnest  struggle  of  his  genius,  and  thus  is  frequently  led  to. 
attach  peculiar  value  to  a  character,  and  judging  it  from  his  own 
standard  to  estimate  his  conception  of  it  too  highly. 

Many  soul-worn,  weary  days  must  be  spent  in  grasping  the 
meaning  of  the  author.  Intense  fatigue  endured,  and  but  the 
few  are  able  to  bear  the  strain  ;  but  it  is  only  by  learning  the 
secret  of  studying  and  practicing  well  that  there  is  any  possi- 
bility of  learning  to  act  well.  Even  then  foes  may  be  quick  to 
blame,  and  friends  afraid  to  praise.  Bitter  taunts,  biting  irony, 
keen  satire  ;  and  defeat  and  failure  oftener  than  success. 

A  good  free  man  loves  to  reverence  a  superior.;  but  the  slave 
of  envy  feels  elevated  only  in  looking  down  on  those  he  fancies 
less  favored.  It  is  a  frightful  and  disheartening  phase  of  human 
nature  ;  but  it  ought  to  be  recognized  that  we  may  be  guarded 
against  it  in  others,  and  stimulated  to  outgrow  it  in  ourselves. 
No  other  profession  is  so  beset  by  this  odious  spirit  as  the  his- 
trionic. 

Ladies  and  gentlemen  on  the  stage  must  be  so  in  life.  To 
burlesque  Hamlet  must  be  able  to  play  it.  To  redden  the  end 
of  the  nose  is  not  necessarily  funny.  The  fine  gentleman  in 
comedy  should  be  regulated  by  high  manners,  and  seem  as  if 
born  in  polished  life  and  educated  in  drawing-rooms.  If  neces- 
sary to  wear  a  sword,  it  should  be  managed  gracefully.  The 
mode  of  approaching  a  lady  should  be  exceedingly  respectful, 
and  it  requires  the  most  delicate  address  to  lead  and  seat  her  on 
the  stage.  Some  assume  the  refined  manners  with  great  ease. 
and  seem  to  attain  the  station  rather  than  to  have  been  born  to 
it.  Act  the  lady  or  gentleman  and  yon  will  be  one.  The  ival 
lady  or  gentleman  will  be  composed  under  every  trying  circum- 
stance. They  have  taught  themselves  self-control. 


VOICE    OF  ACTORS.  361 


Abandon. 

Some  suppress  too  much,  when  they  ought  to  cultivate 
abandon.  No  one  can  tell  just  how  loud  and  long  they  can 
speak  until  they  try.  "  Open  your  mouth  and  give  way  to 
your  '  true  inwardness,' "  will  make  an  actor  of  almost  any  one 
of  soul  and  intelligence. 

Rest. 

An  artist's  heart  needs  rest  after  a  storm. 

The  excessive  or  repeated  mimic  expression  of  the  passions 
may  bring  on  these  very  sensations.  Garrick,  after  acting  pas- 
sionate rdles,  passed  hours  in  convulsions  in  bed.  Less  dis- 
criminating artists  are  likely  to  transfer  their  characters  to 
ordinary  life.  Excess  of  imagination  produces  the  same  result 
as  of  a  strain  of  the  senses,  only  it  can  be  carried  on  longer 
without  perceptible  exhaustion,  in  a  still  higher  degree.  It 
causes  excitement,  then  according  to  the  organic  law  of  com- 
pensation, torpor.  The  visionary  is  lunacy. 

Too  little  exercise  of  the  imagination  is  like  too  little  em- 
ployment of  the  senses.  The  same  may  be  said  of  thinking. 
Intense,  too  earnestly  continued,  meditation  is  the  frequent 
source  of  impeded  breathing,  indigestion,  particularly  so  if 
carried  on  in  a  sitting  posture.  Thought  impedes  digestion ; 
digestion  impedes  thought.  Intense  thought,  however,  fatigues 
much  more  in  walking  than  at  rest.  Thought  also  impedes  the 
action  of  the  senses  and  feeling.  Intense  exercise  of  fancy  lias 
a  more  powerful  effect  upon  the  organs  than  that  of  pure  thought 
has,  because  the  former  has  more  to  do  with  organic  ideal  images 
from  which  the  latter  abstracts  the  attention,  and  because  the 
former  comes  more  in  contact  with  the  emotions. 

Voice  of  Actors. 

The  most  distinguished  actors  produce  their  most  powerful 
effects  with  the  lowest  tones  of  the  voice,  the  full,  rich  sound 
of  which  is  best  fitted  to  touch  the  tenderest  chords  of  the  soul ; 
and  in  woman's  voice,  likewise,  these  tones  have  often  a  won- 
drously  touching  melody. 


362  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

The  consequences  of  the  grades  of  men  as  to  the  voice  alone, 
when  cultivating  the  art  of  acting  or  singing,  are  prodigious.  In 
alliance  with  the  voice  are  the  tongue  and  the  lips, — organs  re- 
markable for  mobility  and  compass,  and  on  which  persons  may 
be  very  differently  endowed  in  respect  of  discrimination  of  de- 
grees of  movement.  Perhaps  even  still  more  important  is  the 
group  of  muscles  concerned  in  moving  the  eyes,  which  in  the 
average  of  men  are  very  sensitive ;  when  these  are  more  dis- 
criminative than  usual,  there  is  a  great  increase  in  the  power 
which  can  hardly  be  overestimated. 

Of  the  infinity  of  sounds  that  fall  on  the  ear,  that  pain  or 
please,  the  great  mass  are  neutral ;  but  it  is  these  neutral  sounds 
that  have  meanings  beyond  themselves.  Articulate  speech  gives 
intrinsically  little  of  delight  to  the  ear,  but  an  immense  scope 
for  the  discriminating  intelligence.  Cultivation  will  increase 
the  aptitude  for  discrimination. 

If  the  nervous  centre  of  the  muscles  of  voice  is  of  a  high 
order,  and  if  the  general  plasticity  is  good,  there  will  be  a  ready 
retentiveness  for  vocal  effects. 

Aptitude. — Cultivation. 

We  may  even  excel  in  a  study  by  the  force  of  strong  interest 
alone,  the  natural  power  being  by  no  means  remarkable.  Some 
try  to  act  from  feeling  the  aptitude  for  it,  while  others  are  car- 
ried away  by  a  strong  liking.  The  most  notable  instances  are  a 
combination  for  both.  We  find  taste  without  power,  and  we 
also  meet  with  power  without  enthusiasm,  although  perhaps  a 
pleasure  in  its  exercise. 

Acting  that  charms  is  remembered  when  indifferent  playing 
is  forgotten. 

It  is  necessary  for  the  actor  to  enter  closely  into  all  nicer 
shades  of  feeling  of  his  characters  ;  but  yet  it  is  not  expected  of 
him  to  actually  fancy  himself  the  person  represented.  Such  a 
notion  is  unreasonable.  He  must  merely  adhere  to  nature  as 
closely  as  he  can,  and  form  in  his  own  mind  all  the  circum- 
stances, situations  and  feelings  of  the  characters. 

The  face  is  commonly  the  most  certain  index  of  the  passions 


CONVENTIONAL  ACTING.  363 

of  the  mind.  When  it  is  pale  it  betrays  the  agitation  of  the 
soul.  It  is  of  great  force  and  power  in  all  we  do.  On  it  orators 
depend ;  they  behold  it  and  know  our  feelings  before  we  speak ; 
by  it  they  understand  a  multitude  of  things. 

To  be  effective  must  be  significant — rare.  To  even  stand 
still  and  gracefully  is  very  difficult  and  rarely  mastered. 

Vehemence  without  real  emotion  is  rant ;  even  with  emotion 
but  without  art  is  turbulence.  To  preserve  the  medium  be- 
tween mouthing  and  meaning  too  little,  to  effect  by  a  tempered 
spirit  rather  than  by  vehemence  is  one  of  the  master-strokes 
and  the  most  difficult  to  acquire.  It  is  tremulous  will-power. 

It  is  not  nature  from  one's  own  stand-point,  but  nature  from 
a  character  in  its  life. 

Great  wrath  is  not  to  be  expressed  in  spurts,  but  flow  in 
one  mighty  tide. 

The  ability  of  lapsing  from  the  wildness  of  rage  to  calmness 
and  the  gradation  and  after-glow  of  passion  will  come  from 
identity  of  character. 

Conventional  Acting. 

When  an  actor  feels  a  vivid  sympathy  with  the  character  he 
represents,  he  personates  or  speaks  through  it,  and  for  the  time 
is  what  he  represents.  He  can  only  do  this  in  proportion  to 
the  vividness  of  his  sympathy,  and  the  plasticity  of  his  organ- 
ism which  enables  him  to  express  what  he  feels  ;  there  are  cer- 
tain limits  however  to  every  organization.  But  within  these 
limits  it  is  the  honest  reliance  on  individual  expression,  in  strict 
preference  to  conventional  expression  which  may  be  accepted  on 
the  stage.  It  is  the  creative  power.  The  conventional  artist 
either  does  not  feel,  or  cannot  express  what  he  feels,  or  has  not 
energy  of  self-reliance  to  trust  himself,  and  cannot  lie  the  part, 
but  tries  to  act  it,  and  is  obliged  to  adopt  the  conventional 
means  of  the  stage.  Instead  of  allowing  feelings  to  express  them- 
selves through  natural  signs  he  uses  the  conventional;  or  no 
feelings  move  him,  or  he  is  not  artist  enough  to  give  them  gen- 
uine expression. 


3G4  ACTING   AND    ORATOi;\'. 

The  manner  may  be  light,  but  it  should  spring  from  a  deep 
nature ;  a  certain  ground-swell  of  emotion  should  be  felt 
beneath. 

Truths  of  emotion  are  difficult  to  read  and  explain. 

Movement. 

Slow  movements  have  a  close  alliance  with  the  emotions  of 
awe,  solemnity,  and  veneration  ;  the  funeral  pace,  slow,  enuncia- 
tion in  tragedy,  the  long-drawn  tones  of  organ  music. 

Movements  gradually  increasing  or  diminishing  give  rise  to 
a  still  greater  degree  of  pleasurable  feeling,  in  every  sort  of 
activity,  in  gesture,  the  dance,  in  facial  expression.  It  is  this 
peculiarity  that  seems  to  constitute  the  beauty  of  curved  lines 
and  rounded  forms.  It  is  the  great  law  of  the  mind  that  con- 
nects all  sensibility  with  change  of  impression  ;  in  these  rising 
and  falling  movements  there  is  unceasing  variation  of  effect. 

Quick  movements,  or  of  great  rapidity,  whether  the  energy 
expended  be  great  or  little,  have  a  tendency  to  excite  the  nerves  ; 
a  kind  of  stimulant,  like  a  loud  noise,  or  glare  of  light.  The 
mind  is  quickened.  The  effect  may  be  agreeable  or  otherwise. 
If  the  nervous  system  be  strong,  it  may  be  agreeable,  and  end 
in  a  kind  of  intoxication  ;  in  a  jaded  condition  of  the  nerves, 
the  effect  is  apt  to  be  acutely  painful.  Under  excitement,  the 
delirious  pleasure  may  be  paid  for  by  protracted  depression. 

Inward  liberty  and  external  necessity  are  the  poles  of  the 
tragic  world.  It  is  only  by  contrast  with  its  opposite,  that 
each  of  these  ideas  is  brought  into  full  manifestation. 

Tragedy  fails  unless  we  take  a  warm  interest  in  its  personages, 
but  man  even  in  its  highest  moods  must  not  forget  nature.  \Ve 
possess  an  involuntary  and  immediate  veneration  for  truth,  and 
this  belongs  to  the  innermost  emotions  of  the  moral  sense. 
Extraordinary  situations,  which  intensely  occupy  the  mind  and 
throw  mighty  passions  into  play,  give  elevation  and  tension  to 
the  soul. 


ALGHR'S  FORREST.  365 


FROM    ALGER'S    FORREST. 

AN"  actor  to  be  thorough  must  master  three  provinces  of 
knowledge  :  the  characters  of  men  in  their  vast  variety  ;  the 
modes  of  manifestation  whereby  those  characters  reveal  their 
inward  states  through  outward  signs  ;  the  manner  in  which  those 
characters  and  those  modes  of  manifestation  are  affected  by 
changes  of  consciousness,  or  situation  ;  how  they  are  modified 
by  the  reflex  play  of  their  own  experience. 

Every  man  has  three  types  of  character,  in  all  of  which  he 
must  be  studied  before  he  can  be  adequately  represented.  First 
he  has  his  inherited  constitutional  or  temperamental  character, 
his  fixed  native  character,  in  which  the  collective  experience 
and  qualities  of  his  progenitors  are  consolidated,  stamped,  and 
transmitted.  Next  he  has  his  peculiar  fugitive  or  passional 
character,  which  is  the  modification  of  his  stable  average  char- 
acter, under  the  influence  of  exciting  impulses,  temporary  ex- 
altations of  instinct  or  sentiment.  And  then  he  has  his  acquired 
habitual  character,  gradually  formed  in  him  by  the  moulding 
power  of  his  occupation  and  associations.  The  first  is  ancestral. 
The  second  his  personal,  by  his  own  experience  and  discipline. 
The  third  his  social,  what  he  has  been  made  by  caste. 

The  original  estimate  by  nature  is  indicated  in  his  form,  his 
physical  and  mental  make-up.  The  estimate  he  puts  upon 
himself,  is  seen  in  the  transitive  modifications  of  his  form  by 
movements  made  under  the  stimulus  of  passions.  The  con- 
ventional estimate  or  social  value  is  suggested  by  the  permanent 
modifications  in  his  form  and  bearing  by  his  customary  actions 
and  relations  with  others.  Thus  the  triple  type  of  character 
possessed  by  every  man  is  to  be  studied  by  means  of  an  analysis 
of  the  forms  of  his  organs  in  repose  and  of  his  movements  in 
passion  or  habit. 

The  classes  of  character  are  as  numerous  as  the  tempera- 
ments. The  osseous,  in  which  the  bones  and  ligaments  are  most 
developed  ;  the  lymphatic,  in  which  the  adipose  and  mucous 
membrane  preponderate  ;  the  sainjuinc,  in  which  the  heart-  ami 
arteries  give  the  chief  emphasis  ;  the  melancholic,  in  which  the 
liver  and  veins  overs  way  ;  the  cxeculice,  in  which  the  capillaries 


366  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

and  the  nerves  take  the  lead  ;  the  mental,  in  which  the  brain  is 
enthroned  ;  the  visceral,  in  which  the  vital  appetites  reign  ;  the 
spiritual,  in  which  there  is  a  fine  harmony  of  the  whole.  Each 
denotes  a  distinct  style  of  character,  distinguished  by  definite 
modes  of  manifesting  itself,  the  principal  sign  of  every  character, 
the  key-note  from  which  all  its  expressions  are  modulated,  being 
the  quality  and  rate  of  movement  or  the  nervous  rhythm  of  the 
organism  in  which  it  is  embodied. 

To  know  how  consistently  to  construct  an  ideal  character  of 
any  one  of  these  kinds,  at  any  given  height  or  depth  in  the  his- 
toric gamut  of  humanity,  and  to  be  able  to  embody  and  enact 
it  with  the  harmonious  truth  of  nature,  is  the  task  of  the  con- 
summate actor. 

Dramatic  Languages. 

FORMS. — "With  man,  his  generic  nature,  his  specific  inherit- 
ance, his  individual  peculiarities,  are  signalized  in  his  form  and 
physiognomy  with  an  accuracy  and  particularity  proportioned  to 
the  interpreting  power  of  the  spectator.  The  truth  is  all  there 
for  the  competent  gazer.  The  actor  modifies  his  form  and 
features  by  artifice  and  will  to  correspond  with  what  should  be 
the  form  of  the  person  whose  character  he  impersonates, — in 
outline  and  color  and  costume. 

ATTITUDE. — Attitudes  are  living  modifications  of  shape,  or 
fluencies  of  form.  There  are  nine  elementary  attitudes  of  the 
feet,  hands,  toes,  and  head,  which  may  be  combined  in  an  ex- 
haustless  series.  Every  one  of  these  has  its  meaning  and  value. 
All  emotions  strong  enough  to  pronounce  themselves  find  ex- 
pression in  appropriate  attitudes  or  significant  changes  of  the 
form  in  itself  and  in  its  relations  to  others.  He  who  has  the 
key  for  interpreting  the  reactions  of  human  nature  on  the  agen- 
cies that  affect  it,  easily  reads  in  the  outer  signs  of  attitude  the 
inner  states  of  defiance,  doubt,  exaltation,  prostration,  nonchal- 
ance, respect,  fear,  misery,  or  supplication,  and  so  on. 

AUTOMATIC  MOVEMENTS — Are  unconscious  escapes  of  char- 
acter, unpurposed  motions  through  which  the  states  of  the 
mover  are  betrayed,  sometimes  with  surprising  clearness  and 
force.  Impatience,  vexation,  or  restrained  anger,  breaks 


DRAMATIC  LANGUAGES.  367 

out  in  a  nervous  tapping  of  the  foot  or  finger.  The  fidgety 
manner  of  one  in  embarrassment,  with  the  degree  and  kind  of 
embarrassment,  together  with  the  personal  culture  of  the  sub- 
ject will  be  revealed  in  the  peculiar  nature  of  the  fidgeting.  A 
class  of  these  movements,  as  trembling,  nodding,  shaking  the 
head,  biting  the  lips,  the  shiver  of  the  flesh,  the  quiver  of  the 
mouth,  or  eyelids,  the  shudder  of  the  bones,  and  they  compose 
a  rich  language  of  revelation,  perfectly  intelligible  and  common 
to  all. 

GESTUEES.— This  is  the  language  so  marvelously  flexible, 
copious  and  powerful  among  many  barbarous  peoples.  It  was 
carried  to  such  a  pitch  of  perfection  by  the  mimes  of  ancient 
Kome  that  Roscius  and  Cicero  had  a  contest  to  decide  which 
could  express  a  given  idea  in  the  best  manner  by  gestures  or 
words. 

Gestures  are  a  purposed  system  of  bodily  motions,  both  spon- 
taneous and  deliberate,  intended  as  preparatory,  auxiliary,  or 
substitutional  for  the  expressions  by  speech.  There  is  hardly 
any  state  of  consciousness  which  cannot  be  revealed  more  viv- 
idly by  pantomime  than  is  possible  in  mere  verbal  terms.  As 
fixed  attitudes  are  inflected  form,  and  automatic  movements  in- 
flected attitude,  so  pantomimic  gestures  are  systematically  in- 
flected motion. 

The  wealth  of  meaning  and  power  in  gesticulation  depends 
on  the  richness,  freedom,  and  harmony  of  the  character  and 
organism.  The  beauty  or  deformity,  nobleness  or  baseness,  of 
its  pictures  are  determined  by  the  zones  of  the  body  from  which 
the  gestures  start,  the  direction  and  elevation  at  which  they 
terminate,  their  rate  of  moving,  and  the  nature  and  proportions 
of  the  figures,  segments  of  which  their  lines  and  curves  describe. 
Music  has  no  clearer  rhythm,  melody  and  harmony  to  the 
ear  than  inflected  gesture  has  to  the  eye.  The  first  law  of  ges- 
ture is,  that  it  follows  the  look  or  the  eye,  and  precedes  the 
sound  or  the  voice.  The  second  law  is  that  its  velocity  is  pre- 
cisely proportional  to  the  mass  moved.  The  third  and  pro- 
foundest  law  is  that  efferent  or  outward  lines  of  movement 
reveal  the  sensitive  life  or  vital  nature  of  the  man  ;  that  afferent 
or  inward  lines  reveal  the  percipient  and  reflective  life  or  mental 


308  ACTING   AND    ORATOin: 

nature,  and  that  immanent  or  curved  lines,  blended  of  the  other 
two,  reveal  the  affectional  life  or  moral  nature. 

FACIAL  K\ri:r.ssiny. — This  consists  of  muscular  contrac- 
tions and  relaxations,  dilations  and  diminutions,  the  fixing  or 
flitting  of  nervous  lights  and  shades  over  the  organism.  Its 
changes  are  not  motions  of  masses  of  the  body,  but  visible  modi- 
fications of  parts  of  its  periphery,  as  in  smiles,  frowns,  tears. 
The  girding  up  or  letting  down  of  the  sinews,  the  tightening  or 
loosening  or  horripilating  creep  of  the  skin,  changes  of  color,  as 
in  paleness  and  blushing,  and  all  the  innumerable  alterations  of 
look  and  meaning  in  the  brows,  the  eyes,  the  nose,  mouth  and 
chin,  come  under  this  head.  The  delicacy,  power,  and  compre- 
hensiveness of  this  language  are  inexhaustible.  So  numerous 
and  infinitely  adjustable,  for  instance,  are  the  nerves  of  the 
mouth  that  every  state  of  the  soul  can  be  understood  from  the 
modulation  of  the  lips  alone. 

INARTICULATE  NOISES. — The  undigested  rudiments  of  the 
voice.  All  our  organic  and  emotional  states,  when  keen  enough 
to  seek  expression,  and  we  are  under  n-o  restraint,  reveal  them- 
selves in  crude  noises,  each  one  the  appropriate  effect  of  a  cor- 
responding cause.  We  breathe  aloud,  whistle,  gasp,  sigh,  chok<>, 
•whuujHT.  sob,  groan,  grunt,  sneeze,  snore,  snort,  smack,  gurgle, 
hawk,  spit,  hiccup,  and  give  the  death-rattle.  These  are  the 
rawest  elements  of  expression.  This  is  the  broadest  and  vulgar- 
est  language  of  unrefined  vernacular  man.  The  lower  the  style 
of  acting  the  larger  part  this  will  play  in  it.  From  the  repre- 
sentation of  high  characters  it  is  more  and  more  strained  out 
and  sublimated  away,  the  other  languages  quite  superseding  it. 

INFLECTED  TONES.  VOCALIZED  AND  MODULATED  BREATH. 
— The  mere  tones  of  the  sounding  apparatus  of  the  voice,  in  the 
variety  of  their  quality,  pitch,  and  cadence,  reveal  the  emotional 
nature  of  man  through  the  whole  range  of  his  feelings,  both  in 
kind  and  degree.  The  moan  of  pain,  the  howl  of  anguish,  the 
yell  of  rage,  the  shriek  of  despair,  the  wail  of  sorrow,  the  ringing 
laugh  of  joy,  the  ecstatic  and  smothering  mitrmnr  of  lore,  the 
'penetrative  tremor  of  pathos,  the  solemn  monotone  of  sublimity, 
and  the  dixxolcing  whisper  of  iruinlcr  ami  tidora/ion.  are  some 
of  the  inflected  sounds  in  which  the  emotions  are  reflected. 


DRAMATIC  LANGUAGES.  3G9 

ARTICULATED  WORDS.— The  final  medium  of  the  intellect. 

Vocal  sounds  articulated  in  verbal  forms  are  the  pure  vehicle 
of  the  thoughts  of  the  head,  and  the  inflected  tones  with  which 
they  are  expressed  convey  the  accompanying  comments  of  the 
heart  upon  those  thoughts.  What  a  man  thinks  goes  out  in 
words,  what  he  feels,  is  shown  in  the  purity  or  harshness  of  the 
tones,  the  pitch,  rate,  emphasis,  direction  and  length  of  slide 
with  which  the  words  are  enunciated.  The  word  reveals  the 
intellectual  state  ;  the  tone,  the  sensitive  ;  the  inflection,  the 
moral.  The  character  of  the  man  is  best  seen  in  his  voice.  In 
its  clang- tints  all  the  colors  and  shades  of  his  being  are  mingled 
and  symbolized.  But  it  requires  a  commensurate  wisdom,  sen- 
sibility, trained  skill  and  impartiality,  to  interpret  what  it  im- 
plies. Give  a  man  a  completely  developed  and  freed  voice  and 
there  is  nothing  in  his  experience  which  he  cannot  suggest  by 
it.  Nothing  can  be  clearer  or  more  impressive  than  the  revela- 
tion of  character  by  the  voice  :  the  stutter  of  the  frightened  dolt, 
the  lisp  of  the  fop,  the  broad  blast  of  the  boor,  the  clarion  nott 
of  the  leader,  the  nasal  whine  of  the  hypocrite,  the  muddy  and 
rancous  vocality  of  vice  and  disease,  the  crystal  clarity  and  pre- 
cision of  honest  health  and  refinement.  Cooke  spoke  with  two 
voices,  one  harsh  and  severe,  one  mild  and  caressing.  His 
greatest  effects  were  produced  by  a  rapid  transition  from  one  to 
the  other. 

ACTIONS. — Actions  speak  louder  than  words.  This  language 
is  deeds,  the  completest  single  expression  of  the  whole  man. 
The  thoughts,  affections,  designs,  expose  and  execute  them- 
selves in  rounded  revelation  and  fulfillment  in  a  deed.  The 
deeds  of  every  man  betray  what  he  has  been,  demonstrate  what 
he  is,  and  prophecy  what  he  will  become.  Deeds  are,  above  all, 
the  special  dramatic  language,  because  the  dramatic  art  seeks  to 
unveil  human  nature  by  a  representation  of  it,  not  in  description, 
but  in  living  action. 

These  nine  languages  or  sets  of  outer  signs  for  revealing 
inner  states,  are  all  sustained  and  pervaded  by  a  system  of  in- 
visible motions  or  molecular  vibrations  in  the  brain  and  the 
.other  nerve-centres.  From  the  differing  nature,  extent,  and 
combination  of  these  occult  vibrations  in  the  secret  nerve-cen- 


370  ACTl.Ml    AXD    ORATOHY. 

cres  originate  the  characteristic  peculiarities  of  individuals. 
Every  vital  or  conscious  state  of  man  is  accompanied  by  appro- 
priate kinds  and  rates  of  organic  undulations  or  pulses  of  force, 
and  if  revealed  it  is  by  means  of  these.  The  forms  and  measures 
of  these  vibrations — whether  rectilinear,  spherical,  circul' 
1ij>/ical  or  spiral, — the  width  of  their  gamut,  the  slowness  and 
swiftness  of  the  beats  of  their  extremes,  and  the  complexity 
and  harmony  of  their  co-operation,  determine  the  quality  and 
scale  of  the  man.  The  signals  of  these  concealed  things  hint 
the  kind  and  degree  of  his  power,  the  scope  and  rank  of  his  be- 
ing, because  suggestive  of  the  subtlety  and  power  of  the  modes 
of  motion  vibrating  within.  The  variety  of  modes  and  degrees 
in  which  characters  are  modified  under  the  influence  of  passion, 
— the  variety  of  changes  in  the  adaptation  of  expression  to  char- 
acter, perpetually  altering  with  the  situations, — such  are  the 
elements  of  the  dramatic  art.  What  cannot  be  said  can  be 
looked ;  what  cannot  be  looked  can  be  gesticulated,  and  be 
understood.  The  knowledge  of  these  elements  formulated  and 
systematized  composes  the  true  standard  of  dramatic  action. 

Without  it  the  player  has  to  depend  on  intuition,  inspira- 
tion, instinct,  luck,  guess-work  and  imitation.  He  has  not  the 
safe  guidance  of  fundamental  principles.  One  of  the  givaii1-; 
causes  of  error  in  acting  is  the  difficulty  of  determining  exactly 
how  a  character  in  given  circumstances  will  deport  himself, — 
with  what  specific  combinations  of  the  nine  dramatic  languages, 
in  what  prominence  or  subtlety,  by  what  degree  of  reserve  or 
explosiveness  will  he  reveal  his  inner  states  through  outer  signs. 
The  differences  and  the  chances  for  truthful  skill  are  innumera- 
ble ;  every  particular  in  expression  will  be  modified  by  every 
particular  in  the  character  acted.  The  taciturnity  of  an  iron 
pride,  the  demonstrativeness  of  restless  vanity,  the  abundance 
of  unpurposed  movements  and  unvocalized  sounds  of  vulgarity, 
the  careful  repression  of  automatic  language  by  the  man  of 
finished  culture,  are  illustrations. 

And  then  the  degree  of  harmony  in  the  different  modes  of 
expression  by  which  a  given  person  reveals  himself  is  a  point  of 
profound  delicacy  for  actor  and  critic.  In  a  type  of  ideal  per- 
fection every  signal  of  thought  or  feeling,  of  being  or  purpose, 


DRAMATIC  LANGUAGES.  371 

will  denote  precisely  what  it  is  intended  to  denote  and  nothing 
else,  and  all  the  simultaneous  signals  will  agree  with  one  another. 
But  real  characters,  so  far  as  they  fall  short  of  perfection,  aro 
inconsistent  in  their  expressions,  continually  indefinite,  supi-rtlu- 
ous  or  defective,  often  flatly  contradictory.  Multitudes  of 
characters  are  so  undeveloped'or  ill-developed  that  they  fall  into 
attitudes  without  fitness  or  direct  significance,  employ  gestures 
vaguely  or  unmeaningly,  and  are  so  insincere  or  little  in  earnest 
that  their  postures,  looks,  motions  and  voices  carry  opposite 
meanings  and  thus  belie  one  another.  It  requires  no  superficial 
art  to  be  able  to  instantly  detect  every  incongruity  of  this  sort,  to 
assign  it  to  its  just  cause,  and  to  decide  whether  the  fault  arises 
from  conscious  falsity  in  the  character  or  from  some  incompe- 
tency  of  the  physical  organism  to  reflect  the  states  of  its  spir- 
itual occupant.  For  instance,  in  sarcastic  speech  the  meaning 
of  the  tone  contradicts  the  meaning  of  the  words.  The  voice  is 
of  the  head,  but  the  tone  is  of  the  heart.  So  when  the  voice  is 
soft,  the  language  of  the  eyes  and  fingers  may  be  ferocious. 
In  like  manner  the  revelations  in  form  and  attitude  are  deeper 
and  more  massive  than  those  of  gesture.  But  in  order  that  all 
the  expressions  of  the  soul  through  the  body  should  be  marked 
by  truth  and  agreement,  it  is  necessary  the  soul  be  completely 
sincere  and  unembarrassed,  and  the  body  be  also  free  and  flexi- 
ble to  reflect  its  passing  states.  No  character  furnishes  these 
conditions  perfectly,  and  it  will  therefore  betray  more  or  less  in- 
consistency in  its  manifestations.  Still  every  character  has  a 
general  unity  of  design  and  coloring  in  its  type  which  must  be 
kept  prevailingly  in  view. 

The  one  thing  demanded  of  every  actor  is  that  he  shall  con- 
ceive his  part  with  distinctness  and  represent  it  coherently. 
He  must  have  a  full  and  vivid  conception  of  his  role  and  present 
a  consistent  living  picture  of  it.  But  this  essential  condition 
met,  there  may  be  much  truth  and  great  merit  in  many  differ- 
ent conceptions  and  renderings  of  the  same  r61e.  Then  the 
degree  of  intellectuality,  nobleness,  beauty,  passion  and  power, 
will  depend  on  the  quality  of  the  actor.  It  is  one  of  the  most 
imposing  and  benign  elements  in  the  mission  of  the  stage  to 
show  through  magnificent  examples  of  depth  of  passion,  force 


3?;>  .  ACTIM; 

of  will,  compass  of  voice  and  organic  play  of  revelation,  how 
much  wider  is  the  gamut  of  humanity,  how  much  more  intense 
and  exquisite  its  love,  how  much  more  blasting  its  wrath,  more 
awful  its  sorrow,  more  hideous  its  crime  and  revenge,  more  god- 
like its  saintliness  and  heroism. 

The  perfect  player  must  have  a  detached,  imaginative,  mer- 
curial, yet  impassioned  mind,  lodged  in  a  rich,  symmetrical 
body  as  full  of  elastic  grace  as  of  commanding  power.  The 
spirit  must  be  freely  attuned  to  the  whole  range  of  humanity, 
and  the  articulations  and  muscles  of  the  frame  so  liberated  and 
co-operative  as  to  furnish  an  instrument  responsive  to  all  the 
play  of  thought  and  emotion. 

The  elements  of  the  art  of  acting  are  the  applied  elements 
of  the  science  of  human  nature.  They  are  the  same  on  the 
stage  as  in  life,  save  they  are  there  systematized  and  pro- 
nounced, set  in  relief,  and  consequently  excite  a  more  vivid 
interest. 

There  are  three  natures  in  man  ;  the  vital,  the  mental  and 
moral.  These  express  and  reveal  themselves  in  three  kinds  or 
directions  of  movement. 

The  rital  betrays  or  asserts  itself  in  eccentric  movement, 
movement  from  a  centre. 

The  mental,  in  ac-centric  movement,  movement  toward*  a 
centre. 

The  moral,  in  con-centric  movement,  movement  around  a 
centre. 

Outward  lines  of  motion  express  vital  activity,  inward  lines 
express  mental,  curved  lines,  which  are  a  blending  of  the  other 
two,  express  moral  or  affectional  activity.  This  physiological 
philosophy  is  the  basis  of  all  sound  and  safe  gymnastic.  The 
essential  evil  and  danger  of  the  heavy  and  violent  gymnastic  of 
the  circus  is  that  it  consists  so  largely  of  the  outward  and  in- 
ward lives  which  express  the  individual  will  or  vital  energy  and 
mental  purpose.  Each  of  these  tends  exclusively  to  strengthen 
the  part  it  exercises.  But  two  directions  of  exertion  tend  to 
expand  and  contract,  one  vital,  one  mental.  Both  are  expan- 
sive in  their  drain  on  the  volition,  but  one  tends  to  enlarge  the 
physical  organism,  the  other  to  shrink  it  and  to  produce  strict- 


DRAMATIC   LANGUAGES.  373 

ures  at  every  weak  point.  The  former  gives  a  heavy  develop- 
ment, the  latter  an  irritable,  constricted  condition.  A  true 
system  of  gymnastic  will  perfect  all  the  three  natures  by  not  al- 
lowing one  or  the  other  to  become  dominant,  or  its  special 
motions  to  preponderate,  but  blending  them  in  those  rotatory 
elliptical  or  spiral  movements  which  combine  the  generous  ex- 
pansion of  the  vital  organs  and  the  selfish  concentration  of  the 
mental  faculties  in  just  proportion  and  thereby  constitute  the 
language  of  the  moral  nature.  Rigid  outward  movements  en- 
large the  bulk  and  strengthen  sensuality.  Rigid  inward  move- 
ments cramp  the  organism  and  break  the  unity  and  liberty  of 
its  circulations,  leading  to  disease.  But  flowing  musical  move- 
ments justly  blent  of  the  other  two,  in  which  rhythm  is  ob- 
served, and  the  extensor  muscles  are  used  in  preponderance 
over  the  contractile  so  as  to  neutralize  the  modern  instinctive 
tendency  to  use  the  contractile  more  than  the  extensor, — move- 
ments in  which  the  motor  nerves  are,  for  the  same  reason,  used 
more  than  the  sensory, — will  economize  the  expenditure  of  force, 
soothe  the  sensibilities,  and  secure  a  balanced  and  harmonious 
development  of  the  whole  man  in  equal  strength  and  grace. 
Such  a  system  would  remove  the  tendency  to  a  monstrous  force 
in  one  part  and  a  dwarfed  proportion  in  another.  It  will  secure 
health  and  beauty  in  a  rounded  fullness  equally  removed  from 
shriveled  meagreness  and  repulsive  corpulence.  The  man  whose 
ever^  limb  is  a  whip  is  thrice  more  puissant  than  the  man  whose 
every  limb  is  a  club. 

The  deepest  secret  of  the  final  result  of  this  aesthetic  gym- 
nastic is  that  it  gives  one  the  perfect  possession  of  himself  in  the 
perfected  unity  of  his  organism,  the  connective  tissue  being  so 
developed  by  the  practice  of  a  slow  and  rhythmical  exfct/.^-i it- 
action  that  it  serves  as  an  unbroken  bed  of  solidarity  for  the 
whole  muscular  coating  of  the  man.  Nothing  else  can  be  so 
conducive  as  this  to  equilibrium,  and  consequently  to  longevity. 
When  this  unity  is  broken  by  strictures  at  the  articulations  or 
elsewhere,  the  waves  of  motion  ever  beating  through  the  webs 
of  nerves  are  interrupted,  or  reflected  by  devitalized  wrinkles 
which  they  cannot  pass.  Hence  come  inflam  mations  in  the  outer 
membrane  and  catarrh  in  the  inner. 


374  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

The  aesthetic  gymnastic  is  one  Avhose  measured  and  curvi- 
linear movements  will  not  be  wasteful  of  force,  but  conservative 
of  it,  by  keeping  the  molecular  vibrations  circulating  in  the 
organism  in  perpetual  translations  of  their  power  instead  of 
shaking  them  out  by  sharp  angles  and  shocks.  This  will  develop 
brain,  nerves,  the  genius  and  character,  as  the  old  system  devel- 
oped muscles  apd  the  viscera.  It  will  lead  to  harmony,  inspira- 
tion, long  life. 

The  chest  and  neck,  the  arm  and  hand,  the  face  and  head, 
and  the  voice,  depend  on  and  contribute  to  one  another,  and 
each  in  its  turn  may  be  made  the  most  potent  of  the  agents  of 
expression.  If  the  primacy  be  assigned  to  any  organ  it  must  be 
to  the  central  and  royal  faculty  of  voice,  since  this  is  the  most 
varied  and  complex  and  intellectual  of  all  the  channels  of 
thought  and  emotion.  A  perfected  voice  can  reveal  almost 
everything  which  human  nature  is  capable  of  thinking  or  feel- 
ing. For  this  high  result  not  only  uncommon  endowment  by 
nature  is  necessary,  but  likewise  an  exquisite  artistic  training, 
prolonged  with  skill  and  patience. 

The  perfection  of  voice  is  a  detached  vocal  mentality  which 
uses  the  column  of  respiratory  air  alone  as  an  instrument,  send- 
ing its  vibrations  freely  into  the  sonorous  surfaces  around  it,  at 
will,  in  such  varying  texture  and  quality  of  sound,  such  modified 
degrees  of  softness,  or  hardness,  energy  or  gentleness,  as  would 
suggest  bolts  of  steel,  of  gold,  of  silver,  of  opal ;  waves  of  velvet 
or  fire  ;  ribbons  of  satin  or  crystal.  This  to  come  from  a  mass 
of  electric  sensibility,  all  alive,  and  in  response  to  the  touches  of 
ideas  within,  to  give  out  tones  through  the  whole  diapason  of 
humanity.  The  muscular  connections  of  the  thoracic  and  ab- 
dominal structure  are  brought  into  unity,  every  part  playing 
into  all  and  propagating  every  vibration  and  undulation.  At 
the  slightest  volition  the  entire  space  sounding  becomes  a  vital 
whole  ;  all  its  walls  compressing  and  relaxing  with  elastic  ex- 
actitude, or  yielding  in  supple  undulation  so  as  to  reveal  in  the 
sounds  emitted  precisely  the  thought  and  emotion.  Then  the 
voice  appears  a  pure  mental  agent.  It  seems  to  reside  in  the 
centre  of  the  breath,  using  air  alone  to  articulate  its  svllables. 


THE  SCHOOLS   OF  ACTING.  375 

Such  a  voice  requires  a  systematic  drill  based  on  ultimate  laws 
and  presided  over  by  a  consummate  ideal,  an  ideal  which  is  the 
result  of  traditions  of  vocal  training. 

Voice  is  the  soul  of  the  drama,  facial  expression  is  its  life. 

The  mechanism  of  the  dramatic  art  must  be  a  second  nature. 
At  times  the  personality  is  so  deep  and  the  emotion  so  strong, 
and  perhaps  so  private,  that  artificiality — the  inevitable  blemish 
of  inexperienced  art — will  always,  in  a  novice's  work,  render  the 
performance  tame,  mere  routine  at  best,  imitative  at  that. 

Some  are  of  that  shallow  nature,  as  denoted  in  overweening 
attention  to  dress,  obtrusive  self-consciousness,  and  the  paltry 
triviality  of  an  attitudinizing  manner,  utterly  opposed  to  genius 
and  extraordinary  ability.  It  is  rather  of  the  angular  form, 
passionless  spirit,  the  situations  perhaps  forcible  in  themselves, 
deriving  no  magnetism  from  the  thin  soul  poured  into  them. 

The  Schools  of  Acting. 

The  Romantic  school  of  acting,  in  its  separate  purity,  is  sen- 
sational or  natural,  exhibiting  characters  of  physical  and  men- 
tal realism  ;  the  Classic  school  is  reflective  or  artistic,  represent- 
ing characters  of  the  imagination.  The  former  springs  from 
strong  and  sincere  impulses,  the  latter  from  clear  and  mastered 
perceptions.  That  is  based  on  the  instincts  and  passions,  and 
is  predominantly  imitative  or  reproductive  ;  this  rests von  the 
intellect  and  imagination,  and  is  predominantly  creative. 

The  one  projects  the  thing  in  reflex  life  as  it  exists  in  reality  ; 
the  other  reveals  it,  as  in  a  glass.  That  is  nature  brought  alive 
on  the  stage  ;  this  is  art  repeating  nature  refined  at  one  mental 
remove.  They  resemble  and  contrast  each  oilier  as  the  hurtless 
image  of  the  bird  mirrored  in  the  lake  would  correspond  with 
its  concrete  cause  above,  could  it  while  yet  remaining  a  mere 
reflection,  address  our  other  senses  as  it  now  does  the  eye.  The 
sensational  acting  of  crude  nature  is  characteristically  sympa- 
thetic and  mimetic  in  its  origin,  enslaved,  expensive  of  force, 
and  mainly  seated  in  the  nervous  centres  of  the  body.  The  artistic 
acting  of  the  accomplished  master  is  characteristically  spiritual 
and  self-creative  in  its  origin,  free,  economical  of  exertion,  and 


370  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

mainly  seated  in  the  nervous  centres  of  the  bruin.  The  one 
actor  lives  his  part,  and  is  the  character  he  represents  ;  the  other 
plays  his  part,  and  truly  portrays  the  character  he  imagines. 

The  Classic  is  self-controlled,  stately,  deliberately  does  what  it 
consciously  predetermines  to  do,  trusts  as  much  to  the  expressive 
power  of  attitudes  and  poses  as  to  facial  changes  and  voice.  It 
elaborates  its  role  by  systematic  critical  study,  leaving  nothing 
to  chance,  caprice,  or  instinct. 

The  Romantic  permeates  itself  with  the  situations  and  feel- 
ing of  its  role,  and  then  is  full  of  impetuosity  and  abandon, 
giving  free  vent  to  the  passions  of  the  part  and  open  swing  to 
the  energies  of  the  performer.  The  one  is  marked  by  careful 
consistency  and  studious  finish,  the  other  by  impulsive  truth, 
abrupt  force,  electric  bursts.  That  abounds  in  the  refinements 
of  polished  art,  this  abounds  in  the  sensational  effects  of  aroused 
and  free  nature.  The  former  is  adapted  to  delight  the  culti- 
vated, the  latter  thrills  the  unsophisticated. 

Sensational  acting  takes  its  origin  in  the  senses  and  passes 
thence  through  the  muscles  without  the  intervention  of  the 
mind.  This  is  the  acting  of  the  parrot, — mimicry.  Artistic 
acting  originates  in  the  mind  and  is  freely  sent  thence  through 
the  proper  channels  of  expression.  The  true  definition  of  art  is 
feeling  passed  through  thought  and  fixed  in 'form.  When  the 
intellectualized  feeling  is  fixed  in  its  just  form,  it  should  be 
made  over  to  the  automatic  nerves,  and  the  brain  be  relieved 
from  the  care  of  its  oversight  and  direction.  Then  playing 
becomes  beautiful,  because  it  is  at  ease  in  unconscious  sponta- 
neity. Otherwise  it  becomes  repulsive  to  the  delicate  observer, 
because  it  is  laborious.  The  brain  must  cease  to  do  the  work, 
and  the  volition  must  not  cause  friction  and  an  organic  expense 
to  make  the  sensitive  shrink. 

Melodramatic  acting  is  physical  rather  than  mental  move- 
ment, and  which  makes  more  interest  of  the  situations  than  of 
the  revelation  of  the  characters.  For  example,  the  pantomimic 
expression  of  great  passions  is  melodramatic. 

Sensation  is  to  be  desired  in  a  play.  The  spectators  desire 
to  feel  more  keenly,  more  nobly.  To  be  capable  of  such  as- 
tounding outbursts  of  power  and  passion  as  to  electrify  all 


THE  STAGE.— "BEFORE  THE  FOOTLIGHTS.' 


THE  SCHOOLS   OF  ACTING.  379 

who  behold,  curdle  their  very  marrow,  and  cause  them  ever 
after  to  remember,  is  a  glorious  endowment.  True  sensational- 
ism is  the  very  desideratum  and  glory  of  the  stage. 

Actors  of  genius  substitute — only  enlarging  the  scale — 
the  abruptness,  the  changes,  the  conversational  vivacity  of 
tone,  emphasis  and  inflection,  natural  to  a  man  with  a  voice, 
played  upon  by  genuine  passions,  uttering  thoughts  and  sen- 
timents. 

The  Classic  school  modulates  from  the  idea  of  dignity.  Its 
attributes  are  unity,  calmness,  gravity,  symmetry,  power,  har- 
monic severity. 

The  Romantic  school  modulates  from  the  idea  of  sensational 
effect.  Its  attributes  are  variety,  change,  excitement,  sudden 
contrasts,  alternations  of  accord  and  discord,  vehement  ex- 
tremes. The  vices  of  the  former  are  proud  rigidity,  and  frigidity, 
pompous  formality  and  mechanical  bombast.  The  vices  of  the 
latter  are  incongruity,  sensational  extravagance,  and  affectation. 
The  classic  virtue  is  unity  set  in  relief,  but  a  mathematical  chill 
was  its  fault.  The  romantic  virtue  is  variety  set  in  relief,  but 
its  bane  was  inconsistency. 

The  Romantic  school  early  began  to  branch  in  two  direc- 
tions ;  the  melodramatic,  which  has  no  system,  is  but  instinct 
and  passion  let  loose  and  run  wild,  and  the  natural. 

The  Classic  also  had  two  directions,  one  branch  led  to  death 
in  icy  formalism,  and  slavish  subserviency  to  empiric  rules  ; 
the  other  to  the  perfecting  of  vital  genius  and  skill  in  the 
rounded  fullness  of  truth  ;  not  truth  as  refracted  in  crude  in- 
dividualities, but  as  generalized  into  a  scientific  art.  This 
higher  result  of  the  classic,  joined  with  that  of  the  romantic, 
constitutes  the  artistic. 

The  Natural  is  merely  empirical,  grasped  by  intuition,  in- 
stinct, observation,  and  practice,  with  no  commanded  insight 
of  ultimate  principles. 

The  Artistic  is  scientific,  the  materials  and  methods  being 
mastered  by  a  philosophical  study  which  employs  all  the  means 
of  enlightenment  and  inspiration  systematically  co-ordinated 
and  applied. 

Betterton  was  of  the   classic,  with  the  romantic  and  the 


380  ACTING    AXD   ORATORY. 

natural  and  a  strong  determination  towards  the  artistic,  (iar- 
rick  was  more  of  the  natural  and  artistic.  He  introduced  the 
conversational  manner. 

The  yatural.  as  a  rule,  does  not  enough  discriminate  between 
the  terror  that  paralyzes  the  brain  and  the  horror  that  turns  the 
stomach. 

The  Artistic  lowers  and  absorbs  the  minor  details  in  its 
broad  grasp  of  the  whole. 

The  Classic  is  the  idea  of  grandeur,  dignity, — its  attribute 
is  power  in  repose.  The  romantic  is  effectiveness,  its  attribute 
is  power  in  excitement.  The  natural  is  sincerity,  its  attribute 
is  alternation  of  power  in  repose  and  excitement.  The  arti*(i<- 
is  truth,  its  attributes  are  freedom  from  personal  crudity,  and 
prejudice,  liberation  of  the  faculties  of  the  soul  and  the  func- 
tions of  the  body,  and  an  exact  discrimination  of  the  accidental 
and  the  individual  from  the  essential  and  the  universal ;  not  as 
the  workings  of  nature  in  any  given  person,  however  sincere, 
but  as  they  are  generalized  into  laws  by  a  mastery  of  all  the 
standards  of  comparison  and  classification.  Sincerity  is  individ- 
ual truth,  but  truth  is  universal  sincerity.  The  sincere  natural 
is  limited  to  the  reflections  of  nature  in  the  refracting  individ- 
uality of  the  actor.  The  true  artistic  purifies,  corrects,  sup- 
plements and  harmonizes  individual  perceptions  by  the  con- 
sensus of  averages,  or  elimination  of  the  personal  equation, 
which  dispels  illusions  and  reveals  permanent  principles. 

The  perfect  artist  will  build  a  form  of  character  in  the  cold 
marble  of  pure  intellect  and  then  transfuse  it  with  passion  till 
it,  blushes  and  burns.  He  will  also  reverse  the  process,  seize 
the  spiritual  shape  born  flaming  from  intuitive  passion,  change 
it  into  critical  perception,  and  deposit  it  in  memory  for  subse- 
quent evocation  at  will.  This  is  more  than  nature.  Garrick, 
Siddons,  Talma,  Rachel,  Ristori  and  Salvini  were  natural,  and, 
more, — artistic. 

The  Artistic  practically  still  lies  in  the  future,  although 
its  boundaries  have  been  mapped,  and  its  contents  thus  far 
sketched. 

By  a  scientifically  artistic  school  of  acting  is  not  meant,  as 
some  perversely  understand,  a  cold-blooded  procedure  on  me- 


THE  SCHOOLS   OF  ACTING.  381 

chanical  calculations,  but  a  systematic  application  of  the  exact 
methods  of  science  to  the  materials  and  practice  of  the  dramatic 
art.  One  must  have  spontaneous  genius,  passion,  inspiration, 
and  mimetic  instinct,  and  a  patient  training  in  the  actual  exer- 
cise of  his  profession,  no  less  than  if  he  were  of  the  two  other 
schools ;  while  in  addition  he  seizes  the  laws  of  revelation  by 
analysis  and  generalization,  and  gains  a  complete  possession  of 
the  organic  apparatus  for  their  display  in  his  own  person  by  a 
physical  and  mental  drill,  minute  and  systematic  to  the  last  de- 
gree. It  is  a  combination  of  all  the  others  perfected  by  knowl- 
edge and  a  drill  methodically  applied. 

The  business  of  the  actor  is  to  reveal  the  secrets  of  the  char- 
acters he  represents  by  giving  them  open  manifestation.  This 
is  the  art  of  commanding  the  discriminated  manifestations  of 
human  nature.  If  not  based  on  the  science  of  the  structure 
and  workings  of  human  nature  it  is  not  an  art  but  empiricism. 

Every  form  has  its  meaning,  every  attitude,  every  motion, 
every  sound.  Every  combination  of  these  has  its  meaning. 
These  meanings  are  intrinsic  or  conventional,  or  both.  Their 
purport,  value,  rank,  beauty,  merit,  may  be  exactly  deter- 
mined, fixed,  defined,  portrayed.  The  knowledge  of  all  this 
with  reference  to  human  nature,  methodically  arranged,  con- 
stitutes the  scientific  foundation  for  the  dramatic  representa- 
tion. Then  the  art  consists  in  setting  it  all  in  free  living  play. 
The  first  thing  is  a  complete  analysis  and  synthesis  of  the  ac- 
tions and  reactions  of  our  nature  in  its  three  divisions  of  intel- 
ligence, instinct,  and  passion ;  mind,  heart,  and  conscience  ; 
mentality,  vitality,  and  morality.  The  second  thing  is  a  com- 
plete command  of  the  whole  apparatus  of  expression,  so  that 
when  it  is  known  exactly  what  the  action  of  each  muscle  or  of 
each  combination  of  muscles  signifies,  the  actor  may  have  the 
power  to  effect  the  requisite  muscular  adjustment  and  excita- 
tion. The  first  requisite,  then,  is  a  competent  psychological 
knowledge  of  the  spiritual  functions  of  men.  with  a  sympathetic 
quickness  to  summon  them  into  life  ;  and  the  second,  a  corre- 
spondent knowledge  of  anatomy  and  physiology  applied  in  a 
gymnastic  drill  to  liberate  all  the  parts  of  the  organism  from 


382  ACTING   AND    ORATOhT. 

stiffness  and  stricture  and  unify  it  into  ;i  flexible  and  elastic 
whole.  This  aesthetic  gymnastic  is  a  series  of  exercises  aiming 
to  invigorate  the  ti^-nus  and  free  the  articulations  of  the  body, 
so  as  to  give  every  joint  and  muscle  the  greatest  possible  ease 
and  breadth  of  movement,  and  secure  at  once  the  fullest  liberty 
of  each  part  and  the  exactest  co-operation  of  all.  This  finished, 
the  actor  is  competent  to  exemplify  every  physical  feat  and 
capacity  of  man.  Furthermore  are  certain  gamuts  of  expres- 
sion for  the  face,  the  practice  of  which  gives  the  brows,  eyes, 
nose,  and  mouth  their  utmost  vital  mobility.  For  these  one 
needs  to  sit  before  a  mirror  and  cause  to  pass  over  the  face. 
from  ideas  within,  series  of  revelatory  pictures,  beginning,  per- 
haps, with  death,  and  ascending  through  idiocy,  drunkenness, 
despair,  interest,  curiosity,  surprise,  wonder,  astonishment, 
fear,  and  terror,  to  horror  ;  or  from  grief,  through  pity,  love, 
joy,  delight,  to  ecstasy.  Then  reverse,  phase  by  phase,  to  start- 
ing-point of  expression.  When  able  at  will  to  instantly  summon 
the  distinct  and  vivid  picture  of  the  feeling  needed,  he  is  so  far 
ready  for  his  professional  career. 

Such  is  the  training  of  the  artistic  school  demanded  of  the 
consummate  actor.  It  is  absurd  to  suppose  that  the  perfecting 
of  his  mechanism  makes  a  man  mechanical.  It  spiritualizes 
him.  It  is  a  ridiculous  prejudice  which  so  fancies.  It  releases 
the  organism  from  strictures,  and  so  far  from  preventing  in- 
spiration, invites  and  enhances  it  by  fit  preparation  and  condi- 
tions. The  circulating  curves  of  this  aesthetic  gymnastic,  whose 
soft  elliptical  lines  supersede  the  hard  and  violent  angles  of  the 
vulgar  style,  and  raise  man  towards  the  likeness  of  a  god,  then 
as  the  influence  of  thought  and  feeling  breathes  through  him, 
the  changes  of  the  features  and  the  movements  of  the  limbs  and 
of  the  different  zones  of  the  body  are  so  fused  and  inter-fluent, 
that  they  modulate  the  flesh  as  if  it  were  materialized  music. 

Such  a  system  teaches  the  actor  to  shrink  and  diminish  his 
stature  under  the  shriveling  contraction  of  meanness  and  cow- 
ardice, or  suspicion  and  crime,  until  it  seems  dwarfed,  or  lift 
and  dilate  it  under  the  inspiration  of  grand  ideas  and  magnani- 
mous passions,  until  it  seems  gigantic,  and  awes  the  spectator  as 
something  supernatural. 


THE  SCHOOLS   OF  ACTING.  383 

True  art  arises  from  the  desire  to  convert  conceptions  into 
perceptions,  which  enhance  and  prolong  in  order  to  revive  at 
will,  and  impart  to  others. 

Grace  without  force  is  the  product  of  weakness,  and  can 
please  none  save  those  whose  sensibilities  are  drained.  Force 
without  grace  is  like  a  figure  flayed  and  shocks  taste.  Grace 
in  force  and  force  in  grace,  combined  impetuosity  and  modera- 
tion, power  revealed  hinting  a  far  mightier  power  reserved,  this 
irresistibly  charms  all.  Only  the  few  attain  this  to  a  superla- 
tive degree,  for  it  requires  richness  of  soul,  spontaneous  instinct, 
analytic  study,  systematic  drill,  patience,  delicacy  and  energy. 
The  elements  of  the  stage  are  those  of  life,  but  more  pronounced 
and  more  distinctly  prominent.  The  greater  art  is  better  than 
the  greater  nature.  The  grand  movements  of  the  soul  lift  man 
into  an  ideal  nature.  It  is  originality  superseded  by  ideality. 

Adherence  to  mere  authority,  tradition,  usage,  or  dry  tech- 
nicality, is  fatal  to  inspiration.  This  carried  to  an  extreme 
makes  the  most  cultivated  a  mere  mechanician.  There  is  an 
infinite  distance  from  such  external  elaboration  to  the  surprises 
of  feeling  which  open  the  soul  directly  upon  the  mysteries  of 
experience,  send  cold  waves  of  awe  through  the  nerves,  and  con- 
vert the  man  into  a  sublime  automaton  of  elemental  nature,  or 
a  hand  with  which  God  himself  gesticulates.  Then  the  acting 
is  not  from  the  surface  of  the  brain  but  from  dynamic  deeps  of 
the  system.  Then  the  arms  become  instruments  of  a  visible 
music  of  passion  mysteriously  powerful.  Action  from  the  distal 
extremities  of  the  nerves  is  feverish,  twitching,  anxious,  with  a 
fidgety  and  wasteful  expensiveness  of  force,  while  action  from 
their  central  extremities  is  steady,  harmonious,  commanding, 
economical  of  force.  The  nearer  to  the  central  insertions  of  the 
muscles  the  initial  impulses  take  effect,  so  much  the  longer  the 
lines  they  fling,  the  acuter  angles  they  subtend,  the  vaster  the 
segments  they  cut  and  the  areas  they  sweep.  This  suggests  to 
the  imagination  of  the  spectator  a  god-like  dignity  and  greatness. 

The  consummate  artist,  observing  principles,  does  every- 
thing easily;  the  empiric,  striving  at  facts,  does  everything 
laboriously.  Feeling  transmuted  into  art  by  being  passed 
through  thought  and  fixed  in  form  is  transferred  for  its  exc-m- 


ACTlXd    AXD    ORATORY. 

plitication  from  the  volition  of  the  cerebral  nerves  to  the  auto- 
matic execution  of  the  spinal.  This  does  not  exhaust  the 
strength.  But  when  feeling  is  livingly  radiated  into  form  by 
the  will  freshly  exerted  each  time,  the  exaction  on  the  forces  of 
the  organism  is  great.  It  is  then  nature  in  her  expansiveness 
that  is  seen,  rather  than  art.  In  Barry  excessive  sensibility 
overcame  his  powers.  It  was  heart,  not  head.  Garrick  never 
lost  possession  of  himself  and  of  his  acting.  The  one  felt  all 
he  said  :  the  other  remained  cool,  and  yet  by  his  kingly  self- 
control  forced  his  audience  to  feel  so  much  more. 

In  the  artistic  school  the  actor  is  like  a  lens  of  ice.  The 
player  who  can  pour  the  full  fire  of  passion  through  his  soul 
while  his  nerves  remain  firm  and  calm,  has  command  of  every 
power  of  nature,  and  reaches  the  greatest  effects  without  waste. 

Everything  repulsive  or  petty  lessens  and  lowers  us.  The 
signs  of  such  states  are  to  be  withheld.  The  signs  of  beautiful, 
powerful,  and  sublime  states  enrich  and  exalt  those  who  recog- 
nize and  reproduce  their  meaning. 

In  the  sculptures  of  Phidias  the  most  exquisite  living  devel- 
opment into  unity  of  all  the  organs  and  faculties  of  man  is  pet- 
rified for  posterity  to  behold. 

Average  persons  and  their  average  lives  are  prosaic,  often 
mean  and  tiresome.  They  have  no  conception  of  the  august  or 
appalling  extremes  reached  by  those  of  the  greatest  endowments, 
rhe  intensities  of  their  experience,  the  grandeurs  and  the  mys- 
teries of  their  fate.  Garrick,  Salviui.  Rachel  or  Ristori  carry- 
ing tiie  graduated  signals  of  love  to  the  climax  of  beatific  bliss, 
or  the  signals  of  jealousy  to  the  explosive  point  of  madness, 
makes  common  persons  feel  that  they  had  not  dreamed  what 
these  passions  were.  They  are  brought  to  see  the  exceptional 
greatness  of  humanity  and  initiated  into  some  appreciation  of 
those  astonishing  passions,  feats,  and  utterances  of  genius 
which  must  otherwise  have  remained*  sealed  mysteries  to  them. 
Rachel  used  to  stand,  every  nerve  seeming  an  adder,  and  freeze 
and  thrill  the  audience  with  terror,  as  her  fusing  gestures, 
perfectly  automatic  although  guided  by  will,  glided  in  slow 
continuitv  of  curves,  or  darted  in  electric  starts.  The  com- 


THE  SCHOOLS   OF  ACTING.  385 

manding  majesty,  intelligence  and  passion  of  Mrs.  Siddons 
seemed  to  bring  her  audience  before  her  and  not  her  before  her 
audience. 

The  spiritual  sphere  of  an  individual  is  attractive  or  repul- 
sive, strong  or  weak,  vast  or  little,  harmonious  or  discordant. 

A  tragedian  advances  on  the  stage  with  a  quiet  step  and 
countenance  calm.  Without  a  gesture  or  a  word,  he  simply  is 
and  looks.  Yet,  as  he  approaches,  awe  spreads  around.  A 
breathless  silence  all  over  the  theatre,  a  rooted  attention  from 
all.  As  he  speaks  his  voice,  quick  and  deep,  seems  to  pronounce 
supernatural  oracles.  By  what  transcendent  faculty  does  he 
render  hate  so  terrible,  irony  so  frightful,  disdain  so  superhu- 
man, devotion  so  entrancing,  love  so  inexpressibly  sweet,  while 
the  whole  assembly  rivet  their  eyes  and  hold  their  breath  as 
their  hearts  throb  under  the  mystic  influence.  The  secret  is 
purely  a  matter  of  law  without  anything  of  chance. 

It  has  two  elements,  beauty  and  power — both  expressed  in 
shape,  features,  motions,  tones.  Shapes,  features  and  tones, 
are  results  and  revelations  of  modes  of  motion.  The  face  is 
shaped  and  modulated  by  the  ideal  forces  within,  the  rhythmi- 
cal vibrations  which  preside  over  the  processes  of  nutrition. 
All  those  shapes  or  movements  which  in  their  completeness 
constitute,  or  in  their  segments  imply,  returning  curves  or  un- 
dulations, such  as  circles,  ellipses,  and  spirals,  are  beautiful. 
They  suggest  economy  of  force,  ease  of  function,  sustained  vital- 
ity, and  potency.  Abrupt  changes  of  direction,  sudden  snatches, 
and  breaks  of  movement,  sharp  angles,  are  ugly  and  repellent, 
because  they  suggest  waste  of  force,  difficulty  of  function,  dis- 
cord of  the  individual  with  the  universal. 

Endless  lines  or  undulations  circling  in  themselves,  is  the 
law  of  beauty  which,  just  in  proportion  to  its  pervasive  preva- 
lence and  exhibition  in  any  one,  gives  its  possessor  charm.  The 
subtile  indication  of  this  in  the  incessant  and  innumerable  play 
of  the  person  fascinates  and  delights  all  who  see  it ;  and  those 
who  do  not  consciously  perceive  it  are  still  influenced  in  the  un- 
conscious depths  of  their  nature. 

The  element  of  power  is  closely  allied  in  its  mode  of  revela- 


386  ACTIXG   AXD    ORATORY. 

tion  and  influence  with  that  of  beauty.  Every  attitude,  gesture 
or  facial  expression  is  composed  of  contours  and  lines,  static, 
dynamic,  latent  and  explicit,  fragmentary  and  complete, 
straight,  curved,  or  angularly  crooked.  Xow,  the  nature  of 
these  lines,  the  degree  in  which  their  curves  return  or  do  not 
return  into  themselves,  the  nature  and  sizes  of  the  figures  they 
describe,  or  would  describe  if  completed  according  to  their  in- 
dicative commencements,  determine  their  beauty  or  ugliness  and 
decide  what  effect  they  shall  produce  on  the  spectator.  The 
beauty  is  proportioned  to  the  preponderance  of  endless,  lines  and 
therefore  of  perfect  grace.  The  power  by  exertion  made  to 
effect  produced.  All  force  expended  passes  off  on  angular  lines. 
The  angles  of  movement  may  be  obtuse  or  sharp  in  varying  de- 
grees, and  consequently  subtend  lines  of  different  lengths.  All 
attitudes  and  gestures  compose  curves  and  figures,  or  cast  lines 
and  form  angles,  which  constitute  their  aesthetic  and  dynamic 
values,  those  measuring  beauty,  these  power.  For.  on  the  prin- 
ciple of  lever  and  momentum,  the  power  expended  at  the  end 
of  a  line  is  equal  to  that  exerted  at  the  beginning  of  the  line 
multiplied  by  its  length.  The  amounts  of  exertion  and  the 
lengths  of  lines  are  unconsciously  estimated  by  the  intuitions  of 
the  observer,  and  the  unconscious  interpretations  to  which  he  is 
led  are  what  yield  the  impressions  experienced.  The  greatest 
sense  of  power  is  received  when  the  smallest  weight  at  the  cen- 
tral extremity  balances  the  largest  one  at  the  distal.  The  law 
of  combined  beauty  and  power  of  action,  then,  is  contained  in 
the  relations  of  returning  lines  and  lengths  of  straight  lines. 
The  measure  of  dramatic  expression  is  this  :  impression  of  grace 
from  preponderance  of  perpetuating  curves,  and  strength,  by 
degrees  of  the  angles  formed  by  the  straight  lines. 

The  organism  with  the  greatest  freedom  of  the  parts,  and 
the  greatest  unity  of  the  whole,  the  most  perfect  co-operation  of 
all  the  nerve-centres  in  a  free  dynamic  solidarity  and  the  most 
complete  surrender  of  the  individual  will  to  universal  principles, 
will  have  the  greatest  influence,  or  "the  greatest  personal  mag- 
netism." The  divinest  character  expresses  itself  in  softly  flow- 
ing forms  and  inexpensive  movements.  The  most  royal  and 
august  majesty  of  function  indicates  its  rank  of  power  by  the 


THE  SCHOOLS   OF  ACTING.  :JS7 

slightest  exertions  implying  the  vastest  effects.  Frivolous,  false 
and  vulgar  characters  are  ever  full  of  short  lines,  incongruous 
and  broken  motions,  curves  everywhere  subordinated  and  angles 
obtrusive.  Such  persons  are,  it  is  said,  destitute  of  magnetism. 
They  cannot  possibly  charm  or  awe.  The  quality,  grade,  and 
measure  of  a  personality  are  revealed  primarily  in  the  propor- 
tions, secondarily  in  the  movements.  The  truth  is  all  there, 
though  all  may  not  be  competent  to  interpret.  The  most  har- 
monious and  perfect  character  will  show  the  most  exquisite 
symmetry  and  grace  of  repose  and  action.  Beauty  of  motion, 
the  implication  of  endless  lines,  is  the  normal  sign  of  loveliness 
of  soul.  Grandeur  of  soul  or  dynamic  greatness  of  mind  is  in- 
dicated by  implicit  extent  and  ponderous  slowness  of  motion. 
When  the  smallest  displays  of  motion  at  the  centres  suggest  the 
most  sustained  and  extended  lines,  the  impression  given  of 
power  is  the  most  mysterious  and  overwhelming.  The  most 
tremendous  exertions  in  lines  and  angles  whose  invisible  com- 
plements are  small,  produce  a  weak  impression,  because  they  do 
not  appeal  to'  the  imagination.  The  beauty  of  the  figures  im- 
plied in  the  forms  of  the  movements  of  a  man  is  the  analogue  of 
his  goodness  ;  the  dimensions  of  the  figures,  of  his  strength. 

The  charm  of  a  delicious,  musical,  powerful  voice,  has  these 
four  elements  :  beautiful  forms  in  its  vibrations,  perfect  rhythm 
or  equidistance  of  them,  with  varying  breadth,  and  also  varying 
extent  of  vibratory  surface  in  the  sounding  mechanism.  With- 
out knowing  these  conditions,  the  sensitive  hearer  accurately 
responds.  It  is  the  same  with  the  geometrical  lines  and  figures 
involved  in  the  bearing  of  a  person.  This  is  the  law  of  personal 
magnetism  which  always  exerts  the  vastest  swing  of  power  from 
the  most  exactly  centred  equilibrium.  The  mysteries  of  God 
are  revealed  in  space  and  time  through  form  and  motion.  They 
are  concentrated  in  rhythm,  which  is  the  simultaneous  vibra- 
tion of  number,  weight  and  measure.  The  secret  of  the  de- 
light that  waits  on  the  perception  or  feeling  of  beauty  and 
power  is  the  recognition  of  sequent  ratios  which  express  sym- 
metry in  space  or  geometric  law.  Spatial  symmetry  is  the  law 
of  equilibrium,  the  adjustment  of  the  individual  with  the  uni- 
versal, and  measures  power.  Temporal  symmetry  is  the  law  of 


388  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

health,  the  pulsating  adjustment  of  function  with  its  norm, 
and  measures  the  melodious  flow  of  life. 

Ehythm  is  the  constant  dynamic  reproduction  of  symmetry 
in  space  and  time  combined.  It  is  the  secret  of  personal  mag- 
netism. Its  charm  and  its  power  are  at  their  height  when  the 
symmetries  are  most  varied  in  detail  and  most  perfect  in  unity. 

The  dilettante,  in  his  dryness,  is  incapable  of  enthusiasm. 
And  there  are  multitudes  so  harassed  and  exhausted  in  the  self- 
ish contest,  their  hearts  and  imaginations  so  perverted  and 
shriveled,  that  it  is  one  of  the  supreme  benefactions  that  a  great 
actor  intensifies  and  illuminates  the  language  of  a  character, 
and  fixes  attention  on  its  import  by  lifting  all  its  modes  of  ex- 
pression to  their  highest  pitch. 

Of  the  tragedians,  it  may  be  said  that  the  Othello  of  Quin  was 
a  jealous  plebeian  ;  of  Kean,  a  jealous  king  and  a  jealous  savage  ; 
of  the  elder  Vanderhoff,  a  jealous  general ;  of  Macready,  a  jealous 
theatrical  player  ;  of  Brooke,  a  jealous  knight ;  of  Salvini,  a  jeal- 
ous lover  transformed  into  a  jealous  tiger. 

Nothing  is  so  charming  as  a  just  and  vivid  play  of  the  spirit- 
ual faculties  through  all  the  languages  of  their  outer  signs,  in 
the  friendly  intercourse  of  real  life.  The  suppression  of  the 
free  play  of  the  organism  stiffens  and  sterilizes  human  nature, 
impoverishes  the  interchanges  of  souls,  makes  existence  formal 
and  barren.  A  man  grooved  in  bigotry  with  no  alert  intelli- 
gence and  sympathy  is  a  repulsive  companion.  He  moves  like 
a  puppet  and  talks  like  a  galvanized  corpse.  But  one  thoroughly 
possessed  by  the  dramatic  spirit,  with  his  faculties  all  free  and 
earnest,  speaks  like  an  angel  and  moves  like  a  god. 

As  a  guiding  hint,  the  central  law  of  dramatic  expression 
may  here  be  explicitly  formulated.  All  emotions  that  betoken 
the  exaltation  of  life,  or  the  recognition  of  influences  that  tend 
to  heighten  life,  confirm  the  face,  but  expand  and  brighten  it. 

All  emotions  that  indicate  the  sinking  of  life,  or  the  recog- 
nition of  influences  that  threaten  to  lower  life,  relax  and  vacate 
the  face  if  these  emotions  are  negative;  contract  and  darken  it 


THE  SCHOOLS   OF  ACTING.  389 

if  positive.  In  answer  to  the  exalting  influences  the  face  either 
grasps  what  it  has,  or  opens  and  smiles  to  hail  and  receive  what 
is  offered ;  in  answer  to  the  depressing  influences  it  either 
droops  under  its  load,  or  shuts  and  froivns  to  oppose  and  ex- 
clude what  is  threatened.  The  eyes  reveal  the  mental  states  ; 
the  muscles  reveal  the  effects  of  those  states  in  the  body.  In 
genial  states  active,  the  eyes  and  muscles  are  both  intense,  but 
the  eyes  are  smiling.  In  genial  states  passive,  the  eyes  are  in- 
tense, the  muscles  languid.  In  hostile  states  active,  both  eyes 
and  muscles  are  intense,  but  the  eyes  are  frowning.  In  hostile 
states  passive,  the  eyes  are  languid,  the  muscles  intense.  In 
simple  or  harmonious  states,  the  eyes  and  muscles  agree  in  their 
excitement  or  relaxation.  In  complex  and  inconsistent  states, 
the  eyes  and  muscles  are  opposed  in  their  expression.  The  whole 
philosophy  would  comprehend  a  volume. 

The  active  Sublime — Marches,  rushes  or  stalks  straight  to 
its  object,  like  the  soldier,  lion,  eagle,  lightning.  It  is  stately 
and  majestic,  not  threatening.  It  is  armor,  artillery,  trumpets, 
man.  It  has  two  colors  strong  in  contrast ;  sudden  harmony. 
It  is  compressed,  concentrated,  abrupt,  energetic,  vast,  definite  ; 
no  accessories,  to  the  point ;  distinct,  compels  conviction.  Vo- 
lition, not  sentiment.  It  is  turbulent,  rapid,  harsh,  broken, 
sharp  contrast.  It  delights  in  crushing,  grinding,  tearing.  It 
is  the  Greek  ode, — Tragedy. 

The  passive  Sublime — Is  slow  movement,  like  the  sailing 
of  a  balloon,  soaring  of  an  eagle.  It  is  heavy  drapery ;  few 
folds  to  make  the  great  flexures  of  the  body ;  the  small  ones 
being  unseen.  It  has  no  ornaments.  It  is  like  the  ocean-mur- 
mur, or  a  deep  bell.  It  is  serene,  equable,  grave,  sonorous,  a 
vast  tide  swelling  to  a  full  volume,  long.  It  is  blank  verse,— 
Eeligion. 

The  Beautiful— Is,  undulating,  gentle  ;  reclines ;  is  spright- 
ly ;  it  springs,  leaps,  runs,  sings,  dances.  It  is  light,  soft,  long, 
waving  drapery  ;  sinuous  folds.  Its  ornaments  are  few,  pearly, 
opalaceous,  iridescent,  not  sparkling,  intense,  but  delicate  ;  on 
points  of  rest,  not  motion.  It  blends,  it  is  the  flute,  is  woman. 
It  is  the  sonnet. 


390  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

The  Vivid — Is  angles,  jewels ;  like  rockets ;  voice  in  keep- 
ing deep  or  light,  petty  emphasis,  and  glittering  accessories. 
Shows  all  parts,  hands,  arms,  feet ;  dress  elastic,  parti-colored  ; 
ornaments  many,  sparkling.  It  is  birds  ;  children.  It  is  short, 
brilliant,  witty,  rapid.  It  is  crackling,  crisp.  It  is  satire. — 
Comedy. 

The  eye  of  man  is  direct,  steadfast ;  surveys,  observes,  is 
serious  ;  that  of  woman  is  gentle,  waving ;  it  glances,  is  joyant. 

Stimulants. — You  cannot  hide  any  secret.  If  the  actor  re- 
sort to  stimulants  his  work  will  characterize  itself  as  the  effect 
of  such.  You  put  the  spectator  in  the  same  state  of  mind  and 
in  the  same  proportion.  There  are  no  secrets.  Society  is  a 
masked  ball,  where  every  one  hides  his  real  character,  and  re- 
veals it  by  hiding. 

He  who  has  acquired  the  ability  may  wait  securely  the  occa- 
sion of  making  it  felt.  Men  talk  as  if  victory  were  fortune. 
Work  is  success. 

To  make  our  word  or  act  sublime,  we  must  make  it  real.  It 
is  system  ;  not  a  single  word  or  action.  Use  whatever  language 
you  can,  never  say  anything  but  what  you  are. 

'Tis  incredible  what  force  the  will  has. 

The  faithful  can  reverse  all  former  warnings  under  guidance 
of  a  deeper  instinct.  He  learns  that  adversity  is  the  prosperity  of 
the  great.  He  learns  the  greatness  of  humility.  He  shall  work 
in  the  dark,  against  failure,  pain  and  ill-will.  If  insulted  he  can 
be  insulted  ;  he  is  not  to  insult.  In  the  greatest  trials  it  surprises 
him  with  a  feeling  of  elasticity  which  makes  nothing  of  all. 

A  true  actor  feels  at  once  the  effect  of  every  touch  in  his 
role,  as  some  men  sensitively  discern  at  once  whether  they 
offend  or  delight,  while  to  others  less  keen  no  such  indications 
are  apparent. 

Realistic  Acting. 

A  player  capering  nimbly  about  and  talking  in  what  he  calls 
natural  tones,  without  regard  for  the  old  didactic  forms  of 


REALISTIC  ACTING.  391 

speech  ;  maundering  in  his  realistic  far  niente  style  through  the 
old  comedies  ;  this  realistic  acting,  and  repeating  unelocutionized 
colloquy  at  times,  seems  to  get  the  better  of  the  stage  and  its 
creatures,  and  those  who  cannot  act,  set  the  fashion  for  those 
who  can,  and  real  art  seems  at  once  submerged  by  the  rose-water 
sea  of  society  drama.  But  the  art  is  not  yet  utterly  lost,  as  oc- 
casionally evinced  by  those  few  of  the  artistic  who  oppose  them- 
selves to  the  miserable,  shallow,  so-called  realistic,  and  such 
genuine  actors  as  they  have  never  found  it  necessary  to  unlearn 
their  art  in  order  that  they  might  drone  through  a  part,  and 
make  themselves  stupid  in  order  that  they  might  be  natural. 
How  stupid  to  attempt  to  break  down  the  principles  of  art  that 
made  them  great.  This  "high  polite  "style  of  performance 
where  the  entire  dialogue  is  in  a  state  of  mental  coma,  and  the 
speech  and  action  are  mere  reproductions  in  tone  and  movement 
of  what  we  hear  and  see  every  day  on  the  street  and  in  the 
drawing-room  is  becoming  monotonous.  It  is  not  art  either,  it 
is  mere  mimicry.  It  is  a  low  grade  of  talent  actors  are  redu- 
cing themselves  to.  There  is  not  enough  variety  in  their  subject 
to  raise  its  reproduction  to  the  dignity  of  an  art.  It  is  melan- 
choly indeed  to  see  an  actor  of  natural  abilities  falling  into  such 
errors,  and  the  great  wonder  is  that  he  can  be  content  to  chain 
down  his  ambition  and  relinquish  the  freedom  of  a  possible 
genius  to  smother  the  art  voice  within  him  to  the  minor  key  and 
monotone  of  the  new  realistic  school  of  talk  and  play.  .  Every 
gentleman  who  is  represented  on  the  stage  nowadays  is  a  sort  of 
creature  of  the  "  strike-you-with-a-feather  sort."  Why  can't 
our  actors  give  over  being  so  very  nice  ?  Why  must  they  make 
a  character  an  ass  as  a  preliminary  to  making  it  a  gentleman  ? 
Why  can't  a  gentleman  of  to-day  be  portrayed  on  the  stage  with 
the  qualities  of  a  man,  just  as  they  are — pure  and  simple, 
brusque,  hearty,  and  manly  ? 

Why  ?  Because  of  this  same  realistic  (!)  style  which  is  per- 
vading the  theatres  and  making  the  air  of  the  coulisses  heavy 
with  its  anaesthetic  odors. 

The  artist  never  thinks  anymore  of  bringing  out  the  mental 
qualities  of  the  gentleman  of  to-day,  or  of  building  up  the  char- 
acter by  mental  pictures  and  reproduction  of  subtle  points  of 


392  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

character.  That  would  be  too  much  like  acting,  and  it  would 
be  dealing  with  the  mind  as  well  as  the  body,  and  would  detract 
from  the  "  realism  "  of  the  scene.  Can't  one  be  a  gentleman 
and  manly  at  the  same  time  ?  Is  there  anything  in  the  good 
round  full  voice  of  mature  manhood,  or  in  the  frank,  healthy 
ways  of  the  perfect  man  that  is  opposed  to  the  quality  of  a  gen- 
tleman ?  Yet  not  a  single  gentleman  as  represented  on  the 
stage  is  manly — he  has  all  the  qualities  of  Hildebrand  Montrose, 
but  none  of  those  rugged  ways  of  the  genuine  man.  His  ways 
are  what  the  boarding-school  misses  call  "  refined,"  his  voice  is 
of  the  ''sucking  dove  "  modulation  and  of  the  "Ta-ta,  George" 
timbre. 

This  is  the  new  school.  Another  of  the  lost  arts  of  the 
stage — lost  because  sunk  in  the  whelming  overflow  of  stupid 
"realistic"  notions — is  the  art  of  "make-up."  The  "gentle- 
man" of  the  mimic  scene  knows  of  no  make-up  art  but  that 
which  makes  him  beautiful.  The  whole  process  consists  merely 
in  the  gumming  of  a  moustache,  a  greasing  and  powdering  of 
face  and  hands,  a  blackening  of  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  and  a 
painting  of  the  ears.  The  vanities  of  this  stage  gentleman  are 
ridiculous.  If  you  get  close  enougli  to  the  stage  any  night,  you 
may  see  a  red  spot  on  the  chin  of  the  actor  who  is  made  up  to 
be  a  pretty  "perfect  gentleman."  That  red  spot  represents  a 
dimple.  All  his  make-up  powers  are  effeminate  and  point 
merely  to  the  beautification  of  his  vain  self.  No  actor  can  be 
said  to  know  his  business  until  he  has  acquired  this  art  of 
"make-up,"  which  seems  likely  to  prove  another  of  the  lost  arts 
of  the  stage.  As  for  the  ladies — the  actresses — they  have  lost 
the  art  of  artistic  make-up  altogether. 

Our  actresses  have  taken  to  the  French  methods  of  make- 
up. They  put  the  black  cosmetic  on  their  eyelids  very  thickly 
from  a  heated  hair-pin,  plaster  their  faces  with  a  chalky  paste, 
paint  their  lips  with  rouge,  thus  destroying  all  expression,  red- 
den their  cheek-bones  high  up  on  the  side  of  the  face,  and  paint 
the  eyelids  all  around  with  shaded  vermilion.  A  black  mark 
around  the  nostrils,  pink  dabs  on  the  ears,  and  a  plentiful  use 
of  "whitewash"  for  the  arms  and  neck,  constitute  all  the  art. 
The  make-up  is  the  same  for  an  old  woman  as  a  young  one,  and 


REALISTIC  ACTING.  393 

the  result  is  that  our  actresses  look  like  French  ballerinas  in 
long  clothes,  and  their  features  plastered  with  pigments  inartis- 
tically  laid  on,  are  capable  of  no  expression  at  all,  or  at  most, 
of  only  the  ballerina's  grin.  This  is  why  when  you  sit  back  in 
the  parquette  and  view  their  features  as  they  act,  they  are  a 
mere  whitewashed  and  reddened  blank,  utterly  lacking  nobility, 
and  giving  not  the  faintest  expression  to  the  spoken  emotion  of 
the  play.  Stage  art,  as  far  as  the  women  of  the  stage  are  con- 
cerned, has  given  place  to  artfulness. 

The  arts  they  have  imitated  from  the  French  ballet  people 
are  not  arts  at  all,  but  mere  artfulness,  which  does  not  become 
the  ladies  of  our  stage.  There  is  no  woman  who  can  give  emo- 
tional expression  to  her  lines  with  her  lips  reddened  with  vermil- 
ion and  half  her  mouth  "painted  out"  with  white  plaster, 
while  the  lips  are  "painted  in,"  in  the  shape  of  ridiculous  pro- 
portions of  what  is  intended  to  represent  a  rosebud.  Such  ridic- 
ulous vanity  is  not  becoming  to  women  of  brains,  and  the 
principles  of  stage  make-up  should  be  remodeled  entirely  if  they 
would  improve  their  acting-faces  to  something  more  than  mere 
rude  masks. 

Dramatic  art,  no  matter  how  low  the  subject,  should  always 
treat  it  in  a  clean,  high,  poetic»  manner.  No  photography  is 
wanted  ;  and,  furthermore,  it  always  offends  and  always  fails. 
Tenderness  or  strength  are  more  frequently  required  in  a  more 
than  conventional  degree  ;  something  deeper,  broader  and  more 
sonorous  than  is  exacted  in  the  lighter  ephemeral  "society 
plays."  Such  pieces  are  passions  of  the  nerves,  not  heart. 
Playing  in  society  is  more  injurious  than  useful,  even  if  in 
standard  pieces. 

The  best  rule  for  a  performer  is  to  forget,  if  possible,  that 
any  audience  is  listening.  One  performs  best  of  all  in  his  closet, 
and  next  best  to  crowded  houses  ;  but  scarcely  ever  is  there  a 
good  performer  who  sees  his  audience. 

The  Power  of  Minuteness. 

It  is  scarcely  credible  upon  how  minute  an  article  of  sound 
depends  the  greatest  beauty  or  delicacy  of  poetical  numbers. 


394  ACTING   AXD    ORATORY. 

especially  where  the  sentiments  are  pathetic.  The  least  syllable 
too  long  or  too  slightly  dwelt  upon  in  a  period,  depreciates  it  to 
nothing  ;  which  very  syllable,  if  rightly  touched,  shall,  like  the 
heightening  stroke  from  a  master's  pencil,  give  life  and  spirit  to 
the  whole.  There  is  also  a  kind  of  language  in  agreeable  sounds, 
which,  like  the  aspect  of  beauty,  without  words,  speaks  to  the 
imagination. 

Authors. 

Some  authors,  in  reading  their  plays  to  the  actors,  for  the 
first  time,  may  give  the  plain  sense,  yet  on  the  whole  be  cold, 
flat,  and  unaffecting ;  while  others,  as  is  instanced  of  Lee,  may 
be  quite  the  reverse.  The  author  mentioned  read  on  one  occa- 
sion so  effectively  that  a  leading  actor  threw  down  his  part  say- 
ing, '"'Unless  I  were  able  to  play  it  as  well  as  you  read  it  why 
should  I  undertake  it  ?  "  And  yet  this  very  author  was  unable 
to  act  himself.  This  proves  that  let  one's  conception  of  a  part 
be  ever  so  just,  or  so  true,  there  must  go  with  them  a  certain 
freedom  and  grace,  which  is  easier  to  conceive  than  describe. 

Eye  and  Ear. 

The  eye  is  much  more  affected  and  its  observations  strike 
deeper  into  the  memory,  than  those  by  the  ear.  On  the  stage 
both  senses  are  in  conjunctioa. 

Level  speaking  is  regarded  as  highly  precious  by  actors  ;  it 
is  one  of  the  rarest  of  histrionic  gifts  and  accomplishments.  It 
was  the  distinguishing  characteristics  of  the  elder  Kean's  de- 
livery. It  is  on  the  middle  voice.  Inspiration  quick,  expira- 
tion slow. 

Women — Acting. 

As  to  the  idea  that  acting  is  incompatible  with  female  virtue 
and  modesty,  it  is  not  merely  an  insult  to  the  estimable  women 
who  have  and  still  adorn  the  stage,  but  to  all  womankind. 
Vanity,  jealousy,  selfishness,  the  spirit  of  intrigue,  the  morbid 
effects  of  over-excitement  are  not  confined  to  actresses ;  if 
women  placed  in  this  position  do  require  caution  and  dignity  to 
•ward  off  temptation,  and  self-control  to  resist  it,  and  some 
knowledge  of  their  own  structures  and  the  liabilities  incurred  by 
their  profession,  in  order  to  manage  better  their  own  health, 


WOMEN—  A  CTIXG.  395 

moral  and  physical,  then  they  only  require  what  all  women 
should  possess — what  every  woman  needs,  no  matter  what  her 
position. 

An  artist,  properly  so  called,  is  a  woman  who  is  not  ashamed 
of  the  public  exercise  of  her  talent,  but  rather  feels  a  just  pride 
in  its  possession  and  her  ability  to  use  it,  as  a  gift  for  the  use  of 
which  she  will  be  held  responsible.  As  an  artist  she  takes  her 
place  in  society,  content  to  be  known  and  honored  as  such  ; 
not  shunning  the  refined  and  aristocratic,  nor  those  of  any  life 
since  she  belongs  to  none,  but  is  the  delight  of  all.  The  senti- 
ments she  utters  in  public  are  not  parodized  by  private  deport- 
ment. She  is  queenly  in  both.  An  artist  among  artists,  iden- 
tifying herself  with  their  interests,  sympathetic,  helpful,  she 
keeps  aloof  from  degrading  competitions,  and  low  or.  sensual 
habits  ;  and  doomed  to  go  in  company  with  all  that  is  most 
painful,  most  abhorrent  to  her  feelings,  turns  that  necessity  to 
glorious  gain.  She  moves  through  the  vulgar  and  prosaic  ac- 
companiments of  her  behind-the-scenes  existence,  without  allow- 
ing it  to  trench  upon  the  poetry  of  her  conceptions  ;  and  throws 
herself  upon  the  sympathy  of  an  excited  and  admiring  public 
without  being  the  slave  of  its  caprices.  She  feels  that  on  her, 
of  her  own  class,  is  laid  the  deep  responsibility  of  elevating  or 
degrading  the  whole  profession,  to  the  gifted  and  high-minded 
a  really  elegant  and  exalted  vocation.  Such  it  is  to  the  con- 
scientious and  the  pure-hearted. 

The  life  of  an  actress  has  its  special  dangers,  yet  there  is 
nothing  in  it  inconsistent  with  virtue.  But  the  career  of  one 
risen  to  be  petted  by  the  public,  nattered  by  the  great,  thrown 
in  close  relations  with  various  strange  men,  and  unable  to  select 
her  own  associates,  is  beset  with  extraordinary  temptation,  and 
friends  even  should  take  extraordinary  pains  to  guard  against 
them. 

It  seems  almost  improbable  that  any  fashionably  educated 
woman— one  brought  up  to  figure  in  society— can  ever  become 
a  great  or  good  tragic  actress.  All  they  have  been  taught  goes 
to  extinguish  the  materials  out  of  which  an  actress  is  formed— 
acquaintance  with  the  passions,  the  feelings  common  to  all,  and 
indulged  and  expressed  with  comparative  freedom  in  the  poorer 


396  ACTIXG   ASD    ORATORY. 

conditions  of  life,  but  subjugated,   restrained,  and  concealed 
generally  by  high-bred  persons. 

Dramatic  Screams. 

To  scream  is  a  terribly  difficult  thing  to  do,  except  after 
long  practice.  There  is  no  happy  medium  in  a  scream  ;  it  is 
either  thrilling,  or  so  funny  as  to  set  the  audience  laughing, 
which  is  ruin  to  a  serious  "situation/'  An  actress  declared 
she  couldn't  scream.  The  star  insisted  she  should  scream  at 
rehearsal.  In  vain  she  opened  her  mouth  and  scraped  her 
throat — no  sound  came.  At  home,  before  the  glass,  on  the 
stairs,  at  table,  everywhere  she  was  trying  to  scream,  but  with- 
out result.  The  last  rehearsal  came,  and  Adams,  a  trifle  out 
of  patience  at  her  voiceless  efforts,  thought  he  would  start  her 
screaming  with  sudden  pain  ;  so  he  seized  her  arm  and  gave  it  a 
fierce  nip  between  his  fingers  ;  but  all  she  did  was  to  gasp  out  an 
indignant,  "Edwin  Adams — you — you — " 

At  night  she  succeeded  no  better  than  at  rehearsal,  and 
brought  down  the  house  with  a  roar  by  a  queer  little  screech. 
This  ruined  the  play.  The  star  raved,  and  the  manager  threat- 
ened to  discharge  her.  Mortified,  crestfallen,  almost  heart- 
broken, the  poor  actress  wept  herself  to  sleep,  refusing  to  be 
comforted.  About  two  o'clock  the  next  morning  the  whole 
house  was  aroused  and  alarmed  by  a  terrifically  tragic,  blood- 
curdling yell,  as  if  murder  was  being  done,  accompanied  by 
the  words,  "Adw'm  fidams — you — you — " 

Garrick  and  Mrs.  Siddons  were  distinctly  heard  in  the  softest 
sounds,  when  others  were  scarcely  intelligible,  though  offensively 
loud.  This  quality  comes  from  dwelling  with  nearly  uniform 
loudness  on  the  whole  of  every  syllable  and  confining  the  com- 
pass of  the  voice  to  a  few  tones,  and  in  general  a  deliberate  in- 
stead of  rapid  measure. 

Dissipation. 

If,  inflated  by  success,  the  young  actor  commence  a  life  of 
pleasure  or  profligacy  ;  if  he  mix  with  the  dissolute  great  or 
tasteless  vulgar,  he  will  not  long  retain  the  desire  or  the  power  to 


THE  DAY  OF  PERFORMANCE.  397 

cultivate  his  art.  He  will  be  contented  with  his  first  thoughts  and 
his  judgment  will  never  ripen  ;  he  will  pall  by  unvaried  repeti- 
tion, and  grow  careless  when  he  excites  but  little  interest.  Com- 
mencing his  career  with  popularity,  he  will  close  it  in  neglect. 

Old  Age  of  Actors. 

The  longevity  of  players  is  remarkable.  There  was  George 
Holland  who  died  at  78  ;  and  there  is  Charles  Matthews  who 
frolics  still  the  lightest  of  light  comedians  at  74.  Edwin  For- 
rest was  65  when  he  died,  and  Macready  lived  till  he  was  82. 
Fanny  Kemble  lives  and  enjoys  life  at  60.  In  the  last  century 
we  find  that  Wilkes  lived  88  years,  Quin  73,  Garrick  65,  Mrs. 
Clive  75,  Beard  75.  Rich  70,  Macklin  107,  Betterton  75,  M  re. 
Siddons  77,  Quick  80,  Colley  Cibber  86,  Cumberland  79,  Mur- 
phy 78,  Yates  97,  Bannister  77,  Mrs.  Bracegirdle  85,  Braham 
79,  Dowton  88,  Farren  85,  Mrs.  Glover  68,  Harley  72,  Incledon 
69,  Liston  69,  A.  Pope  73,  J.  Russell  79,  Mrs.  Sparkes  83. 

The  Day  of  Performance. 

On  the  day  of  performance  the  mind  should  be  kept  as  in- 
tent as  possible  on  the  subject  of  the  actor's  portraiture,  even  to 
the  very  moment  of  his  entrance  on  the  scene.  He  meditates 
himself,  as  it  were,  into  the  very  thought  and  feeling  of  the 
being  he  is  to  represent ;  enwrapt  in  the  idea  of  the  person  he 
assumes,  he  moves,  he  looks,  and  thus  almost  identifies  with  the 
creature  of  his  imagination.  It  is  hardly  possible  to  conceive 
the  representation  of  character  without  this  preliminary  prepa- 
ration or  some  such  mental  process.  It  was  the  case  with  elder 
Booth,  especially  so  with  Macready  ;  and  Ristori  for  some  time 
before  each  representation  occupies  herself  in  "silent  prayer" 
and  meditation.  Mrs.  Siddons  left  her  home  "  in  character." 

At  night,  the  voice  and  face  being  stamped  with  the  spirit, 
the  nerves  instinctively  relax  or  brace  without  restraint  or  affec- 
tation. 

Keep  up  part  while  listening  to  others  and  not  relax.  Go 
out  of  yourself,  in  seeming,  into  the  character. 

In  tragedy,  fuller  tone,  power ;  more  pomp ;  dwell  on  the 


398  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

words.  -Keep  the  eyes  raised ;  the  neck  erect,  easy.  Open 
breast.  Save  the  voice  by  pauses  and  looks.  It  will  then  be 
better  for  great  expressions. 

Have  a  significant,  silent  expression  while  listening  to  the  rest. 
Forget  you  are  acting,  be  absorbed  as  in  life,  and  not  think  of 
audience. 

If  a  hero,  not  too  complaisant,  too  flexible,  but  be  grand, 
majestic.  Speak  like  an  angel,  move  like  a  god.  Weigh,  by 
dwelling  on  the  words  as  if  to  stamp  them  upon  the  under- 
standing, as  if  parted  with  reluctantly,  till  convinced  of  its  ef- 
fect ;  as  if  the  voice  hung  upon  the  sound  with  pleasure  but  not 
affectedly.  To  prevent  the  slightest  affectation  give  them  pathos. 

When  more  than  ordinary,  draw  the  breath  hard  and  let  it 
go  with  a  sigh  in  the  same  moment.  Let  the  words  swim  down 
the  sigh. 

Two  different  readings  of  the  same  work  are  often  equally 
good.  Soliloquies  the  most  difficult  of  all  reading.  In  the  char- 
acter of  Macbeth,  an  actor  of  no  great  elevation  of  mind,  but 
of  strong  imagination,  may  throw  out  in  his  whole  manner,  so 
speaking  a  terror  that  he  shall  certainly  be  the  true  and  perfect 
image  of  one  who  had  committed  a  murder ;  but  still  he  may 
leave  a  doubt  as  to  whether  that  murderer  be  Macbeth. 

The  moral  progression  of  the  part  must  be  the  constant  in- 
spirer  of  the  actor  ;  above  all,  he  must  keep  before  him  the  in- 
fluence of  those  spirits  ivho  know  all  mortal  consequences  ;  with- 
out this  mental  discipline  to  regulate  the  whole,  the  mere  ex- 
ternal demonstrations  will  often  appear  forced,  disjointed  and 
unnatural ;  a  regard  to  this  principle  removes  all  seeming  in- 
consistency, and  combines  the  whole  into  one  great  and  con- 
sistent character. 

The  difficulties  of  such  a  task  may  well  astonish  us,  and  it 
may  be  reasonably  asked  whether  all  this  is  done  by  an  actor  on 
the  stage  ?  Such  must  be  the  process  ;  in  all  efforts  approach- 
ing to  perfection  this  is  done.  There  is  a  mode  of  passing 
through  a  character  with  no  more  effort  than  will  satisfy  a  com- 
mon knowledge  of  it.  If  the  actor  seem  to  be  in  earnest,  is 
sufficiently  noisy,  declaim  in  the  received  tone,  or  has  a  strange 


THE  DAT  OF  PERFORMANCE.  399 

one  of  his  own — if  he  practice  all  the  tricks  of  his  profession — 
if  his  body  be  disposed  to  suitable  attitudes,  his  features  wrung 
into  what  he  calls  expression,  and  he  looks  successfully,  there 
will  be  usually  little  doubt  of  its  being  a  very  fine  perform- 
ance ;  so  no  doubt  it  is.  Is  this  nature  well  understood  ?  Is  this 
art  in  its  perfection  ?  It  is  a  drilled  exercise,  which  one  can  do 
without  comprehending  the  reason  of  it. 

The  passions  have  a  thousand  shades  admitting  of  palpable 
discrimination,  and  it  is  no  light  study  that  he  takes  up,  who 
would  indeed  become  an  actor.  The  short  and  royal  road  is — 
ask  your  own  heart,  what  is  the  situation  ?  and  how  you  would 
feel  in  a  similar  situation. 

This  can  be  known  only  by  accurate  study,  and  expressed 
by  the  most  entire  assimilation  of  the  actor  to  the  part.  All 
the  delicacies  of  character  must  be  conceived,  or  they  cannot 
be  expressed  ;  without  much  refinement  in  the  actor,  they  will 
not  even  be  suspected.  He  should  therefore  strive  to  be  a  man, 
mentally  and  personally,  highly  accomplished. 

This  style  of  acting  is  critical,  academic,  and  is  built  on  a 
metaphysical  search  into  our  nature,  and  a  close  attention  to  all 
the  minutiae  of  language.  It  deals  therefore  in  pauses,  which 
were  not  before  made  ;  for  the  unlearned  actor  cares  little  about 
the  transitions  of  thought.  He  never  examines,  of  the  associa- 
tions of  our  ideas,  how  much  in  dramatic  dialogue  is  suppressed, 
— and  never  dreams  that  the  rapid  junction  of  ideas  totally  un- 
connected is  violent  and  unmeaning.  It  lays  a  peculiar  stress 
upon  words  which  before  received  no  emphasis ;  because  it  an- 
alyzes everything  by  which  meaning  is  conveyed,  and  can  leave 
nothing  to  chance  which  ought  to  be  settled  by  reason.  To  be 
a  just  representative  of  the  part,  the  actor  is  to  become  a  liv- 
ing commentary  on  the  poet. 

The  great  poet  knows  his  meaning  perfectly,  and  always 
shows  it  to  his  intelligent  reader.  He  gives,  at  times,  passages 
of  high,  sublime  music,  which  must  be  sustained  by  the  actor's 
organs.  He,  at  intervals,  throws  in  brief  touches  of  feeling,  in 
the  language  of  daily  life  ;  and  the  simpler  the  expressions  are 
the  more  brilliant  are  the  effects  they  produce.  The  whole 
play,  in  such  a  diction,  would  be  creeping  and  vulgar. 


400  ACTING  AND    ORATORY. 

The  learned  and  perfect  actor  will  at  all  times  be  the  genu- 
ine representative  of  the  poet  in  the  character.  The  flights  of 
fancy  will  seem  to  spring  from  his  imagination  ;  the  verse  will 
flow  from  organs  accustomed  to  be  delighted  with  its  music. 

Even  the  expression  of  violent  passion  is  not  always  the  most 
excellent  in  proportion  as  it  is  th-3  most  natural ;  so  great  terror 
and  such  disagreeable  sensations,  mav  be  communicated  to  the 

O  *  «/ 

audience,  that  the  balance  may  be  destroyed  by  which  pleasure 
is  preserved,  and  holds  its  predominancy  in  the  mind  ;  violent 
distortion  of  action,  harsh  screams  of  the  voice,  however  natural 
on  such  an  occasion,  are  not  admissible  in  the  theatric  art. 
Many  of  these  allowed  deviations  from  nature  arise  from  the 
necessity  that  everything  should  be  raised  and  enlarged,  that 
the  full  extent  may  come  home  to  the  spectator  which  would 
otherwise  be  lost  in  the  comparatively  extensive  space  of  the 
theatre.  Hence  the  deliberate  and  stately  step,  the  studied 
grace  of  action  which  seems  to  enlarge  the  dimensions  of  the 
actor,  and  alone  to  fill  the  stage.  Great  actors  like  space. 

All  this  unnatnralness,  though  right  and  proper  in  its  place, 
would  appear  affected  and  ridiculous  in  a  private  room,  like  can- 
nons buried  in  flowers,  and  reversely  certain  things  that  might 
give  pleasure  in  a  parlor  would  be  little  and  displeasing  in  a 
theatre.  The  idea  is  to  be  perfectly  suited  to  the  form,  and 
the  form  to  the  idea.  Ideas  address  themselves  to  ideas.  The 
labor  is  the  working  of  the  raw  material  into  the  smoothness  of 
graceful  habit. 

An  intelligent  repose,  at  times,  watchful  of  all  that  is  said, 
and  yet  completely  undemonstrative,  is  the  highest  and  most 
difficult  attainment  in  acting,  and  it  is  its  want  that  leads  to 
excess.  The  Greek  gave  to  the  Thunderer  a  cheerful  face. 

The  genuine  actor  has  in  him  a  force  of  enthusiasm  that 
sometimes  makes  a  fool  of  him,  but  in  the  end  carries  him 
triumphant.  In  the  meantime  his  labors  are  pursued  with  a 
pleasurable  zest,  and  perhaps  even  with  such  delicious  thrills  as 
can  be  appreciated  by  him  alone.  The  consciousness  of  be- 
ing in  the  right  imparts  true  color  which  the  wrong  could  only 
imitate  in  part.  It  resembles  the  difficulty  of  appearing  the 
honest  man  ;  and  one  is  far -more  readily  taken  for  an  honest 


THE  DAT  OF  PERFORMANCE.  401 

man  if  he  really  is  one  and  above  suspicion.  Expression  which 
spontaneously  comes  even  with  the  silent  emotions  of  the  heart, 
is  always  noble  and  simple ;  if,  therefore,  the  actor  would  pene- 
trate into  our  inner  life,  he  must  employ  the  same  language  with 
which  we  commune  with  ourselves.  Every  strange  expression 
tears  us  away  from  ourselves  instead  of  leading  us  back  into 
ourselves. 

Material  illusion  is  not  the  object — not  wax  figures,  but  rath- 
er statues  of  antiquity.  Yet  do  not  command  grandeur  by  size 
until  command  of  grace  comes  by  minuteness.  Refinement  in 
detail  distinguishes  the  lofty-minded  from  the  mediocre.  It 
should  be  a  wealth  of  grace  in  every  movement — the  clearest, 
purest  poetic  vitality.  It  requires  deep  knowledge  in  one's  art, 
and  courage  in  the  full  consciousness  of  one's  powei*.  Great 
spaces  require  great  minds  to  fill  them.  Genius  also  demands 
absolute  freedom.  If  talent  however  of  the  second  rank  masters 
the  form  it  finds  we  are  satisfied  ;  but  of  the  first  rank  we 
demand  enlarged  form. 

Sometimes  in  a  powerful,  youthful  mind,  we  find  a  fount  of 
strength  ;  rough,  of  forcible  effect,  unpolished  by  criticism  into 
the  usual  form  of  artistic  efforts.  It  is  vain  to  seek  to  refine  by 
art,  or  to  confine  it  forcibly  within  bounds,  until  it  has  learned 
to  be  prudent  with  its  means,  and  to  find  the  right  direction 
and  the  goal  in  its  own  way.  He  does  not  try  to  be  pretty  and 
elegant ;  what  he  hates  he  grasps  fiercely  ;  what  he  loves,  he 
almost  crushes  in  his  fervor.  But  such  a  one  is  not  to  be 
measured  by  a  rule.  And  creative  minds  overlook  the  common 
rules  on  which  the  ordinary  tamely  lean  ;  intellect  does  not  flow, 
but  spouts  heavenward  in  a  hundred  varied  directions. 

A  delicate  yet  overflowing  life,  that  stirs  at  the  faintest 
breath  ;  or  a  wealth  of  uncommon  qualities,  a  power  of  inter- 
weaving and  disentangling  the  deep  mysteries  of  meaning,  such 
is  high  dramatic  art,  with  enthusiasm  of  poetry,  that  can  be 
happy  in  grief,  and  sad  in  joy  ;  that  can  be  understood  by  those 
whose  inward  thinkings  almost  break  their  hearts — those  who 
are  already  acquainted  with  the  mysterious  passwords  of  a  rare 
order  of  artists. 

There  come  to  such,  sometimes,  high  luminous  moments  of 


40 ^  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

vision  and  intuition,  when  they  see  at  a  glance  what  before  had 
been  hidden,  and  realms  of  thought  are  instantly  opened  ;  when 
a  moment  will  do  for  them,  what  previous  hours  had  failed  to 
accomplish.  It  is  partly  from  instinct  of  skill — that  better  and 
swifter  success  that  comes  of  the  thought  within. 

Actors  must  not  only  be  able  to  feel  their  characters  but  to 
have  an  executive  capacity  corresponding  to  their  importance. 
Their  temperaments  qualify  their  performances,  sometimes  in 
harmony  with  inspiring  motives,  but  often  contrary  to  them. 
Universal  masters  have  a  lively  joy  in  artistic  work  of  every 
kind.  Their  aim  is  consummate  and  varied  art,  finding  some- 
thing aesthetically  good  in  everything.  Greatness  is  best  ful- 
filled by  completeness.  Therefore  he  is  greatest  who  displays 
the  most  varied  capacity  and  thoroughness.  There  are  occa- 
sions when  a  great  artist  is  forced  out  of  his  legitimate  course, 
and  although  producing  masterly  characteristic  work,  makes  ap- 
parent his  want  of  entire  sympathy  with  or  perfect  comprehen- 
sion of  his  subject. 

Genuine  work  is  sure  to  incite  genuine  enjoyment  finally. 

Sublime  energy  elevates  the  mind  of  the  spectator  by  the 
idea  of  power  on  a  large  scale  ;  an  elation  that  is  pleasurable 
even  to  fascination.  One  that  fascinates  us,  inspires  our  tender 
regard  even  to  love.  The  actor  should  make  his  characters 
lovely  in  sentiment  as  well  as  natural  in  features.  His  work 
should  not  have  the  appearance  of  acting  but  of  being.  The 
rule  seems  to  be,  no  ideas,  no  serious  work,  no  profound  mo- 
tives, no  regard  for  high  art,  nothing  to  indicate  a  desire  to 
make  acting  as  the  incarnation  of  mind. 

Gymnasts  of  acting  are  such  when  they  do  not  affect  the 
merely  sentimental ;  for  their  chief  object  is  to  startle  by  dis- 
plays of  vigor  and  force.  Their  art  is  the  antithesis  of  puerile, 
but  their  sense  may  be  coarse  and  unfeeling.  They  are  the 
actors  of  the  multitude.  They  may  act  freely  and  off-hand,  and 
in  the  main  truth-telling,  but  it  is  done  by  action,  without  sen- 
timent, and  no  higher  intellectual  aim  than  declamation.  Such 
are  clever,  not  great.  Their  acting  is  hearty  ;  done  in  a  mas- 
terly but  narrow  vein.  They  do  not  act  ideas  or  even  emotions. 
If  an  actor  cannot  personify  a  passion  by  a  simple  volition  ex- 


STAGE  FRIGHT.  403 

tending  to  the  features,  voice  and  gestures,  he  may  by  recollec- 
tion, induce  the  reality  actively  or  not.  Our  feelings  govern 
our  ideas.  Nothing  is  harder  than  to  introduce  into  a  mind 
roused  in  some  direction  thoughts  of  an  opposite  kind.  The 
organs  first  and  prominently  affected  by  the  diffused  wave  of 
nervous  influence,  are  the  moving  members,  and  of  these,  by 
preference,  the  features  of  the  face,  whose  movements  consti- 
tute the  expression  of  the  countenance. 

A  sudden  shock  of  feeling  is  accompanied  with  movements 
of  the  body  generally,  and  other  effects.  The  intensity  of  the 
feeling  is  seen  in  the  extent  and  energy  of  the  manifestations. 

It  is  not  to  make  up  faces,  and  contortions  of  the  body,  but 
to  let  expression  come.  It  is  not  to  "  work  up"  to  tears  ;  for 
nothing  is  more  disgusting  than  vamped-up  feeling.  But  natu- 
ral feeling  is  one  of  the  most  powerful  of  attributes.  Then 
again  the  mere  sensual  gratification  arising  from  the  melody 
of  an  actor's  voice,  is  a  very  small  part  of  the  pleasure  we  re- 
ceive, but,  nevertheless,  if  a  single  note  be  absolutely  cracked, 
so  as  to  offend  the  ear,  it  will  completely  destroy  the  effect  of 
the  most  skillful  acting. 

Besides  loud  effort  in  the  exercise  of  the  voice,  there  is  the 
silent  preparation.  It  is  to  mentally  practice,  or  go  over  pas- 
sages in  imagination.  Mrs.  Siddons,  Garrick  and  Kean,  all 
prepared  themselves  for  great  effects  by  this  silent,  meditative 
process. 

Stage  Fright. 

Garrick,  Mac  ready,  and  a  host  of  tragedians  always  kept  in 
bed  nearly  the  whole  of  the  day  to  calm  their  nerves  before  acting 
a  new  part.  On  the  first  night  of  a  new  piece  the  Keeleys  were 
always  very  ill  from  fright.  Celeste  used  to  dash  on  in  sheer  des- 
peration from  it,  saying  to  herself  :  "  Well,  dey  cannot  keel  me 
for  it."  Alfred  Wigan,  one  of  the  letter-perfect  actors,  was  a 
martyr  to  fright,  so  much  that  he  occasionally  totally  forgot  the 
words  ;  as  for  his  accomplished  wife,  he  was  obliged  to  divert 
her  attention  during  the  day,  lest  the  dread  of  a  first  night 
should  overpower  her,  and  at  night  she,  on  one  occasion,  had  to 
throw  herself  on  the  gound  to  subdue  the  beating  of  her  heart 


404  ACTING  AND   ORATORY. 

from  fright.  "  Feel  my  hand,"  said  Charles  Kean  when  he  was 
playing  Cardinal  Wolsey  for  the  hundredth  time  in  the  prov- 
inces. It  trembled  as  if  he  had  the  ague.  Mrs.  Stirling  would 
never  venture  on  the  stage  without  the  manuscript  of  her  part 
in  her  pocket,  as  a  charm  to  keep  the  words  in  her  head.  Mr. 
Irving's  nervousness  is  simply  indescribable ;  even  Mr.  Toole 
will  not  be  seen  by  his  most  intimate  friend  on  a  first  night ; 
while  Mrs.  Kendal  complains  that  her  "  stage-fright  "  increases 
every  year,  and  with  Mr.  John  Parry  every  one  knows  it 
amounted  to  a  positive  disease. 

Persons  in  power  are  approached  with  dread  by  those  below 
them.  But  more  discomposing  is  the  presence  of  an  audience. 
The  power  of  the  concentrated  gaze  of  many  faces  is  something 
appalling  to  one  appearing  for  the  first  time.  It  is  agonizing 
and  unsettling  to  one's  nerves. 

The  dread  of  censure,  or  the  loss  of  good  opinion,  keeps  up 
a  certain  tremulousness,  until  usage  has  set  us  at  our  ease.  The 
uncertainty  of  our  position  in  contact  with  others,  is  a  source 
of  disquiet  and  pain  until  familiarity  has  set  all  doubts  at  rest. 

Nervous  agitation  under  eventful  trials  of  mind  and  body, 
and  the  effort  to  master  it,  the  dazzled  vision,  the  short,  quick 
breath,  the  dry  palate,  the  throbbing  of  the  heart,  all,  however 
painfully  felt  by  great  artists,  are  effectually  disguised  in  the 
character. 

In  the  first  place,  robustness  of  constitution  is  a  means  of 
overcoming  fear,  in  common  with  other  depressing  passions. 
Health  begets  composure  of  mind,  while  exhaustion  and  disease 
have  the  opposite  effect.  In  the  next  place,  the  active  or  en- 
ergetic disposition  is  naturally  related  to  courage.  Kesoluteness 
is  another  quality. 

Courage  is  one  of  the  results  of  habit.  A  public  speaker  ac- 
quires composure. 

Courage  is  one  of  the  most  essential,  the  most  comforting 
characteristics  of  the  human  mind.  The  power  to  retain  com- 
posure under  vast  responsibility  partakes  of  the  sublime. 

With  an  important  new  part,  especially  should  this  apply  to 
a  novice,  eat  a  substantial,  early  supper,  repair  to  the  theatre, 
and  in  good  time  be  dressed,  and  "made  up  "  for  the  character. 


GOOD  WORDS  FROM  GOETHE.  405 

Carefully  read  over  your  words ;  and  then,  if  possible,  move 
leisurely  about  the  scenes,  and  on  the  stage  an  hour,  if  possi- 
ble, before  the  time,  moving  the  muscles  of  the  face,  flexing 
the  limbs,  murmuring  some  of  your  "  lines,"  all  of  which  will 
tend  to  dissipate  nervousness  and  beget  more  and  more  of  ease. 
Then  as  the  audience  assemble,  seek  some  out-of-the-way  place, 
sit  down  and  rest,  till  the  time  comes  for  your  entrance  upon 
the  scene  of  the  play. 

The  malady  is  too  universal  for  stage  managers  not  to  pro- 
vide themselves  against  it  in  novices.  The  worst  thing  possible 
for  any  actor  to  do  is  to  try  to  gain  courage  by  hanging  about 
the  wings  till  his  "call"  comes.  "Keep  in  the  green-room, 
sir,"  says  the  prompter  to  the  novice.  When  the  "call "  comes 
the  novice  is  somehow  hustled  on  to  the  stage,  and,  like  a  dog 
thrown  for  the  first  time  into  the  water,  he  generally  struggles 
out  of  his  difficulty. 

GOOD  WORDS  FROM  GOETHE,  OF  THE 
WEIMAR  THEATRE. 

In  order  to  overcome  mannerisms  in  speech  rigid  distinct- 
ness should  be  observed  even  to  a  degree  of  severity  not  required. 
Even  exaggeration  is  advisable  without  fear  of  results  ;  the 
excess  will  become  equalized  by  the  recurrence  of  the  accus- 
tomed habits. 

A  full  and  clear  enunciation  is  the  groundwork  of  all  higher 
effort.  Pronunciation  is  complete  when  not  a  letter  of  a  word 
is  lost,  and  each  is  given  its  true  value.  When  the  word  is  so 
uttered  its  sense  is  correctly  and  truly  understood.  Perfect 
enunciation  should  be  the  first  object  of  an  actor's  care.  To 
acquire  this  the  beginner  should  speak  very  slowly,  pronouncing 
each  syllable  and  especially  the  end  syllable  firmly  and  with  de- 
cision, so  that  in  rapid  delivery  no  part  of  a  word  shall  be  indis- 
tinctly rendered.  It  is  also  advisable  to  speak  in  as  deep  a  tone 
as  possible,  and  then  to  gradually  ascend  the  scale  ;  for,  by  this 
means  the  voice  acquires  great  scope,  and  is  rendered  capable 
of  all  manner  of  modulation,  which  is  so  necessary  to  an 
actor 


406  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

An  improper  style  is  often  caused  by  not  memorizing  cor- 
rectly. Before  trusting  to  memory  that  which  is  to  be  learned, 
the  language  should  be  carefully  and  slowly  read  ;  at  the  same 
time  abstaining  from  all  sympathy,  expression  or  play  of  the 
imagination  ;  care  being  taken  to  learn  accurately.  This  will 
prevent  many  a  fault. 

Acting  in  its  higher  sense  means  more  than  mere  expression 
of  the  sense  ;  it  means  transformation  of  character  and  a  dis- 
guisal  of  one's  own  individuality,  but  yet  it  is  based  upon  the 
method  here  inculcated.  One's  real  character  is  to  be  forgotten, 
a  strange  nature  assumed,  and  the  whole  soul  infused  into  the 
spirit  of  the  character  to  be  enacted.  The  speech  must  be  en- 
ergetic, and  rendered  with  living  expression,  impressing  every 
word,  thought  or  action  with  the  semblance  of  reality. 

The  actor  should  bear  in  mind  that  if  he  change  his  tones 
too  quickly,  or  speak  in  too  low  or  too  high  a  key,  he  will  fall 
into  a  sing-song  style,  or  on  the  other  hand  he  may  be  mo- 
notonous. 

A  third  evil  is  a  mean  between  the  two,  a  clerical  tone. 

When  a  word  requires  emphatic  utterance  care  should  be 
taken  not  to  break  off  abruptly  in  a  calm  passage,  and  to  pro- 
nounce the  particular  word  with  vehemence  and  resume  the 
quiet  tone,  but  to  prepare  the  way  by  laying  proper  stress  on 
the  preceding  words,  carefully  modulating  the  voice  until  ar- 
riving at  the  emphatic  word,  thus  preserving  a  fullness  and 
roundness  of  expression  through  the  sentence.  An  actor  is  at 
liberty  to  choose  his  own  punctuation  as  long  as  he  does  not 
destroy  the  true  sense. 

It  is  thus  readily  seen  what  incessant  labor  and  time  is  in- 
volved to  succeed  in  this  difficult  art. 

Not  only  rudimentary,  but  in  general  practice,  it  is  advisable 
for  an  actor  to  declaim  in  as  deep  a  tone  as  possible.  By  it  he 
will  acquire  a  wide  range  and  flexibility  of  voice.  If  he  use  too 
high  a  key,  he  will  lose  from  habit  that  manly  depth  of  voice  so 
necessary  to  a  correct  expression  of  all  that  is  great  and  spiritual. 
And  what  success  can  be  expected  with  a  limited  voice  ?  The 
possession  of  a  strong  and  powerful  voice,  however,  assures  the 
actor' s  ability  to  fulfill  every  requirement. 


GOOD  WORDS  FROM  GOETHE.  407 

Attitude  and  Movement. 

Acting  is  not  merely  an  imitation  but  an  ideal  representation 
of  nature,  and  should  therefore  combine  the  true  and  the  beau- 
tiful. 

Every  portion  of  the  body  should  be  under  control,  so  that 
every  limb  can  be  freely  used  with  grace  and  harmony  with  the 
desired  expression. 

The  carriage  should  be  erect,  the  chest  projected,  the  upper 
half  of  the  arm  held  close  to  the  body,  and  the  head  slightly 
turned  towards  the  person  addressed,  with  three-quarters  of  the 
face  towards  the  audience. 

The  actor  is  for  the  audience.  Hence  he  should  never  act 
with  the  mistaken  naturalness  that  no  third  party  is  not  present. 
The  profile  face  or  the  back  of  the  actor  should  be  very  rarely 
turned  to  the  audience  and  if  necessary  it  should  be  done  with 
grace.  It  should  especially  be  observed  not  to  speak  into  the 
theatre  but  to  the  audience.  The  actor  must  divide  his  atten- 
tion between  his  situation  and  the  audience.  Before  turning 
the  head  the  eyes  should  indicate  the  movement.  It  is  proper 
for  the  actor  who  is  speaking  to  move  a  little  backward  and  the 
one  who  is  addressed  a  little  forward.  If  wisely  observed  a  fine 
effect  is  thus  produced.  When  two  persons  are  speaking  to 
each  other  the  one  on  the  left  should  not  approach  too  closely. 
The  respected  person  usually  stands  to  the  right ;  women,  elders 
and  superiors.  A  respectful  distance  is  to  be  observed.  The 
one  at  the  right  should  generally  stand  nearer  the  centre  and 
not  allow  himself  to  be  driven  near  the  wings. 

The  Hands  and  Arms. 

The  hand  should  not  be  doubled  into  a  fist,  nor  rest  flat  at 
the  side,  but  the  fingers  should  be  partially  bent,  partially 
straight  and  not  held  stiffly. 

The  two  middle  fingers  should  remain  together  ;  the  thumb, 
fore,  and  little  finger  slightly  bent.  This  is  the  natural  poise 
and  adaptable  to  all  gestures. 

The  upper  half  of  the  arm  should  be  held  at  the  sides,  and 
moved  in  narrower  limits  than  the  forearm,  which  should  be 


408  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

allowed  the  greatest  freedom.  The  greater  effects  when  the 
arm  is  entirely  uplifted.  It  is  by  gradation  from  the  limited  to 
the  fullest_use  that  the  greatest  expression  is  produced. 

The  hands  should  not  resume  their  natural  position,  after 
completing  a  gesture,  until  the  whole  passage  has  been  rendered, 
and  then  only  gradually  with  the  ending  of  the  speech. 

In  movements  of  the  arm  the  action  should  be  divided. 
First  lift  the  hand,  then  the  elbow,  and  thus  the  whole  arm. 
The  arm  should  never  be  wholly  lifted  without  so  doing,  or  the 
gesture  will  appear  stiff  and  ungraceful. 

For  a  young  actor  it  is  well  to  accustom  himself  in  holding 
his  elbows  at  his  sides  as  closely  as  possible,  to  acquire  complete 
control  of  them.  He  should  keep  up  the  practice  in  ordinary 
life  and  keep  the  arms  bent  backwards,  and  when  alone,  almost 
as  if  tied  together. 

In  walking  or  other  accustomed  movements,  the  arms  should 
hang  loosely,  the  fingers  not  pressed  together,  but  in  motion. 
Descriptive  gestures  should  seldom  be  made.  If  the  gesture 
refers  to  one's  own  body,  do  not  point  to  the  part.  The  point- 
ing of  the  hand  to  the  breast,  to  designate  one's  self,  should 
occur  only  when  the  sense  strictly  requires  it. 

In  order  to  render  this  gesture  well  the  elbow  should  be  de- 
tached from  the  body,  and  then  the  arm  raised.  Then  within 
narrower  compass  lift  the  hand  to  the  bosom,  not  resting  the 
whole  palm  on  the  chest,  but  touching  it  only  with  the  thumb 
and  fourth  finger,  the  others  not  standing  out  stiffly,  but  held 
slightly  curved  over  the  breast. 

In  moving  the  hands  every  possible  care  should  be  taken  not 
to  cover  the  face  or  hide  any  part  of  the  body. 

If  it  is  necessary  to  offer  the  hand,  and  the  right  is  not  ex- 
pressly required,  the  left  will  answer.  Care  should  be  taken 
not*to  make  any  awkward  posture.  If  the  right  hand  must  be 
used,  and  the  position  is  such  that  it  must  be  given  across  the 
body,  it  is  better  to  recede  a  little  and  extend  it  at  the  same 
time,  still  facing  the  audience. 

The  actor  should  observe  on  which  side  of  the  stage  he  is 
and  make  his  gestures  in  keeping.  On  the  right  side  use  the 
left  hand,  and  reversely,  so  that  the  bosom  shall  be  covered  as 


GOOD    WORDS  FROM   GOETHE.  409 

little  as  possible  by  the  arm.  Even  when  both  arms  are  used 
these  points  are  to  be  observed.  To  this  end  also  it  is  well  for 
the  one  on  the  right  to  advance  his  left  foot,  and  reversely  bet- 
ter to  have  the  body  to  the  audience. 

Gesticulation. — Rules. 

Stand  before  a  mirror,  and  only  think  the  words  ;  thus  the 
faculties  will  not  be  absorbed  in  the  speech,  but  every  false  ges- 
ture can  be  detected,  as  well  as  the  beautiful  and  correct  ones 
chosen,  and  the  whole  action  will  show  an  analogy  to  the  sense 
of  the  words. 

It  is  presupposed  that  the  character  is  understood  and  the 
conception  formed  ;  without  this  the  acting  is  impossible. 

It  is  well  to  perform  one's  part  in  pantomime  before  another 
person,  for  one  is  then  obliged  to  use  the  most  appropriate  ges- 
tures. 

Rehearsals. 

To  acquire  easy,  graceful  movements,  care  should  be  taken 
as  to  the  covering  even  of  the  feet.  Slippers  or  something 
similar,  should  be  worn  especially  by  those  who  are  to  represent 
youthful  parts.  The  good  results  will  soon  be  obvious. 

During  rehearsal  nothing  should  be  done  that  is  not  consist- 
ent with  the  play. 

An  actor  should  not  rehearse  in  a  cloak,  but  have  his  arms 
free.  A  cloak  not  only  hinders  motions  but  leads  to  assumption 
of  false  gestures  which  may  be  unconsciously  repeated. 

The  actor  should  only  make  gestures  appropriate  to  his  part. 
All  bad  habits  of  gesture  are  to  be  avoided. 

Rules  of  Ordinary  Life. 

An  actor  should  avoid  allowing  himself  peculiar  gestures  in 
ordinary  life,  as  they  are  likely  to  obtrude  in  acting.  It  is 
necessary  for  the  actor  to  free  himself  from  mannerisms,  so 
that  the  mind  can  be  entirely  in  the  character  and  not  one's 
daily  habits. 

It  is  important  that  the  actor  should  conduct  his  carriage, 
his  deportment,  all  his  actions  in  such  a  manner  as  shall  keep 


410  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

him  continually  in  practice.  This  will  be  an  advantage  in 
every  stage  of  the  art. 

Pathetic  parts  will  be  greatly  enhanced  if  everything  is 
spoken  with  a  certain  correctness  in  intonation  and  pronuncia- 
tion, as  also  is  observed  a  certain  art  in  all  the  actions. 

Acting  should  not  only  be  truthful  but  beautiful,  and  the 
actor  should  constantly  strive  even  when  off  the  stage  to  assume 
pleasing  positions.  He  should  always  imagine  an  audience 
before  him. 

While  studying  his  part  the  actor  should  always  imagine  the 
scene  as  before  him.  Even  in  taking  meals,  little  points  of 
manners,  habits  should  be  observed,  forming  a  mind-picture  as 
it  were  of  what  is  represented  on  the  stage,  always  aiming  at  the 
beautiful. 

Attitude  and  Grouping. 

i 

The  theatre  is  a  picture  with  living  figures  which  are  repre- 
sented by  the  actors.  Therefore  one  should  never  act  too  near 
the  wings.  It  is  a  great  error  also  to  approach  the  proscenium. 
When  alone  on  the  stage  the  actor  completes  the  picture  and  all 
attention  is  riveted  on  him. 

In  a  soliloquy,  crossing  from  one  side  of  the  stage  to  the 
other,  it  is  well  to  move  in  a  diagonal  towards  the  opposite  pro- 
scenium. It  is  more  pleasing  in  appearance.  In  quitting  the 
stage  it  is  frequently  best  to  pronounce  the  last  words  near  the 
place  of  exit. 

Rehearsals — In  acting. — A  great  mistake  is  to  mutter  over 
"parts"  and  keep  in  voices  to  preserve  them.  Strengthen  by 
use  ;  to  warm,  to  dephlegm,  and  clarify  by  fullest  power,  to  re- 
move hesitation  and  to  tune  voice  by  continual  exercise,  into 
habitual  mellowness,  ease  of  compass  and  inflection. 

One  should  rehearse  with  nearly  the  same  earnestness,  for 
the  practice,  as  a  preparation  for  the  night.  It  proves  the 
effect  of  the  performance.  "  'Tis  easy  said,  but  oh,  how  hardly 
tried  ! "  If  you  cannot  do  it  in  the  morning,  you  will  not  be  as 
likely  to  do  it  at  night. 

Private  conversation   is  inadequate  for  the  public.     The 


GOOD  WORDS  FROM  GOETHE.  411 

artist's  success  is  won  by  seeming  to  be  natural,  while  being 
artistic.     Delicate  exaggeration  is  the  first  necessity. 

Acting. 

Enjoyments  of  rare  occurrence  are  best  prized  :  a  proper 
value  cannot  be  set  on  pleasures  tasted  every  day. 

In  idea,  personally  become  the  character.  In  every  place, 
one's  room,  the  street,  under  all  circumstances  labor  to  stamp 
the  whole  play  if  possible  upon  the  mind. 

A  pleasing  figure,  a  sonorous  voice,  a  feeling  heart. 

Is  there  any  creature  in  the  world  whose  morsel  of  bread  is 
attended  with  such  vexation,  uncertainty,  and  toil  ?  What 
things  to  be  endured  from  the  envy  of  rivals,  from  the  partiality 
of  managers,  and  from  the  ever-altering  caprices  of  the  public. 

In  some  it  is  not  condition  but  self  wherein  lies  the  mean 
impediment  over  which  they  cannot  gain  the  mastery.  It  must 
be  an  inward  calling  or  his  situation  is  miserable.  But  he  who 
is  born  with  capacities,  finds  in  execution  the  fairest  portion  of 
his  being.  It  is  secret  impulse  within  ;  it  is  the  love  and  de- 
light felt,  that  helps  to  conquer  obstacles,  to  overleap  the 
bounds  of  that  narrow  circle  in  which  others  poorly  toil.  For 
many  the  stage  is  but  a  few  boards  ;  the  parts  assigned  are  but 
a  task  to  a  schoolboy.  They  do  not  feel  the  co-operating,  co- 
inspiring  whole,  which  the  mind  alone  can  invent,  comprehend 
and  complete.  In  man  there  lives  a  spark  of  purer  fire,  which, 
when  it  is  not  fed,  not  fanned,  gets  covered  by  the  ashes  of  in- 
difference and  daily  wants  ;  yet  not  till  late,  perhaps  never,  can 
be  altogether  quenched.  There  must  be  strength  in  one's  soul 
to  fan  this  spark  into  flame,  riches  in  the  heart  to  feed  it  when 
aroused.  The  vocation  which  proceeds  from  within  must 
diffuse  itself  over  all  the  frame  ;  and  the  tones  of  the  voice,  the 
words  of  the  mouth  be  delightful  to  hear  ;  and  must  make  one 
feel  one's  own  being  sufficient  for  one's  self. 

The  art  is  like  living  rightly,  and  like  all  arts ;  the  capacity 
is  born  with  us  ;  it  must  be  learned,  and  practiced  with  inces- 
sant care.  One  must  love  his  talents  for  their  own  sake  or 
renounce  them. 

A  good  actor  makes  us  very  soon  forget  the  awkwardness 


412  ACTING   AND    ORATORY. 

and  meanness  of  paltry  decorations  ;  but  a  splendid  theatre  is 
the  very  thing  which  first  makes  us  truly  feel  the  want  of 
proper  actors. 

Some  are  not  without  culture,  but  wofully  defective  in  soul 
and  spirit.  They  declaim  not  badly,  and  keep  declaiming  con- 
stantly ;  but  their  performances  are  little  more  than  recitations 
of  words.  They  labor  at  detached  passages,  but  can  never  ex- 
press the  feeling  of  the  whole.  Withal,  however,  they  are  sel- 
dom disagreeable  to  any  one.  On  the  contrary  they  may  be 
pleasing  and  even  have  ascribed  to  them  a  fine  understand- 
ing from  their  chameleon-like  ability  of  taking  on  different 
characters. 

Actors,  to  be  properly  trained,  should  not  be  satisfied  with 
the  mere  words,  gestures,  looks,  exclamations,  even  to  the  mute 
and  half-mute  play  of  the  dialogue,  but  their  very  bodies  should 
be  taught  to  think  and  feel.  Such  by  their  silence,  their  delays, 
their  looks,  their  slight  graceful  movements,  can  prepare  the 
audience  for  a  speech,  and  by  a  pleasant  sort  of  pantomime  com- 
bine the  pauses  of  the  dialogue  with  the  general  whole.  Such 
a  practice  as  this,  co-operating  with  a  happy  natural  turn,  and 
training  it  to  compete  with  the  author,  is  far  from  being  as 
habitual  as  might  be  desired.  If  such  a  course  be  not  followed 
many  things  will  still  be  wanting  to  an  artist,  if  instruction 
have  not  previously  made  that  of  him  which  he  was  meant  to  be. 

At  all  times  do  the  best,  as  if  before  the  largest  audience. 

In  learning  to  act  uninstructedly  it  seems  necessary,  in  part 
at  least,  to  feign,  and  to  arrive  by  degrees  to  playing  naturally 
and  with  true  feeling.  To  seem  transported,  yet  lie  in  wait  for 
effects.  If  too  violent  it  soon  forces  one  to  proceed  with  a  cer- 
tain moderation  ;  and  thus  partly  by  constraint,  partly  by 
instinct,  one  begins  to  learn  what  so  few  players  understand — 
frugality  of  voice  and  gesture. 

A  person  of  slender  but  corrected  understanding  may  pro- 
duce more  agreeable  effect  on  others  than  a  perplexed  and  un- 
purified  genius,  and  seem  to  possess  a  wonderful  extent  of  power. 

Rhythm — Grace . 

A  well-pronounced  rhythm  awakens  in  the  soul  a  sense  of 


GOOD  WORDS  FROM  GOETHE.  413 

the  greatest  charms  of  poetry,  and  one  should  study,  by  all 
methods,  to  nourish  in  his  mind  the  faculty  of  feeling  these 
things. 

Men  are  so  inclined  to  content  themselves  with  what  is  com- 
monest ;  the  spirit  and  the  senses  so  easily  grow  dead  to  the 
impressions  of  the  beautiful  and  perfect.  But  no  man  can  bear 
to  be  entirely  deprived  of  such  enjoyments  ;  it  is  only  because 
they  are  not  used  to  taste  of  what  is  excellent,  that  the  generality 
of  people  take  delight  in  silly  and  insipid  things,  provided  they 
be  new.  For  this  reason  one  ought  every  day  to  hear  or  read  a 
fine  poem,  to  see  a  fine  picture,  or  some  work  of  art. 

A  certain  stately  grace  in  common  things,  a  sort  of  gay  ele- 
gance in  earnest  and  important  ones,  becomes  him  well,  for  it 
shows  him  to  be  everywhere  in  equilibrium.  He  is  a  public 
person,  and  the  more  cultivated  his  movements,  the  more  sono- 
rous his  voice,  the  more  staid  and  measured  his  whole  being, 
the  more  perfect.  If  to  high  and  low  he  continues  the  same, 
nothing  can  be  said  against  him,  none  may  wish  him  otherwise. 
His  coldness  must  be  reckoned  clearness  of  head.  If  he  can 
rule  himself  externally  at  every  moment  of  his  life  no  one  has 
aught  more  to  demand  of  him. 

* 

None  that  have  not  personally  been  upon  the  stage  can  form 
the  slightest  notion  of  it.  How  utterly  unacquainted  actors  are 
with  themselves,  how  thoughtlessly  they  carry  on  their  trade, 
how  boundless  their  pretensions.  Each  not  only  would  be  first 
but  sole  ;  each  wishes  to  exclude  the  rest,  and  does  not  see  that 
even  with  them  he  can  scarcely  accomplish  anything.  Each 
thinks  himself  a  man  of  marvelous  originality  ;  yet  with  a 
ravening  appetite  for  novelty,  he  cannot  walk  a  footstep  from 
the  beaten  track.  How  vehemently  they  counterwork  each 
other.  It  is  only  the  pitifulest  self-love,  the  narrowest  views 
of  interest,  that  unite  them.  Of  reciprocal  accommodation  they 
have  no  idea  ;  backbiting  and  hidden  spitefulness  maintain  a 
constant  jealousy  among  them. 

We  should  pardon  in  the  actor  faults  that  spring  from  self- 
deception  and  the  desire  to  please.  If  he  seem  not  something 
to  himself  and  others,  he  is  nothing.  To  seem  is  his  vocation ; 


414  ACTJ.V'r    A.YD    ORATOKY. 

he  must  prize  his  moment  of  applause,  for  it  is  his  only  recom- 
pense ;  he  must  try  to  glitter,  he  is  there  to  do  so.  We  should 
pardon  all  the  faults  of  the  man  in  the  player  ;  no  fault  of  the 
player  in  the  man. 

Without  the  utmost  truth,  it  seems  merely  ridiculous  to  see 
people  on  the  stage,  pretending,  in  other  clothes,  to  pass  for 
something  else  than  they  are  ;  for  peasants,  princes,  or  counts 
and  kings.  To  try  to  make  one  think  they  are  sad  or  happy, 
that  they  are  indifferent  or  in  love,  liberal  or  avaricious,  when 
one  feels  to  the  contrary. 

Imitation  is  born  with  us  ;  what  should  be  imitated  is  not 
easy  to  discover.  The  excellent  is  rarely  found,  more  rarely 
valued.  The  height  charms  us,  the  steps  to  it  do  not ;  with 
the  summit  in  our  eye,  we  love  to  walk  along  the  plain.  It  is 
but  a  part  of  art  that  can  be  taught ;  the  artist  needs  it  all. 
The  best  is  not  to  be  explained  by  words.  The  spirit  in  which 
we  act  is  the  highest  matter.  Action  can  be  understood  and 
again  represented  by  the  spirit  alone.  Of  wrong  we  are  al- 
ways conscious.  Whoever  works  with  symbols  only  is  a  pedant, 
a  bungler.  Obstinate  mediocrity  vexes  even  the  best. 

Instruction  from  the  true  artist  opens  the  mind  ;  where 
words  fail  him,  deeds  speak.  The  true  scholar  learns  frgm  the 
known  to  unfold  the  unknown,  and  approaches  more  and  more 
to  being  a  master. 

Woe  to  every  sort  of  culture  which  destroys  the  most  effect- 
ual means  of  all  true  culture,  and  directs  us  to  the  end,  instead 
of  rendering  us  happy  on  the  way  ! 

True  art  constrains  us  in  the  most  delightful  way  to  recog- 
nize the  measure  by  which,  and  up  to  which,  our  inward  nature 
has  been  shaped  by  culture. 

What  chiefly  vindicates  the  practice  of  strict  requisitions,  of 
decided  laws,  is  that  genius,  that  native  talent,  is  the  readiest 
to  seize  and  yield  them  willing  obedience.  It  is  only  the  half- 
gifted  that  would  wish  to  put  his  own  contracted  singularity  in 
the  place  of  the  unconditional  whole,  and  justify  his  false  at- 
tempts under  cover  of  an  unconstraiuable  originality  and  inde- 
pendence. 

Genius  is  animated  by  that  good  spirit  of  quickly  recogniz- 


GOOD    WORDS  FROM  GOETHE.  415 

ing  what  is  profitable  for  it.  Genius  understands  that  Art  is 
called  Art,  because  it  is  not  Nature.  Genius  bends  itself  to 
respect  even  towards  what  may  be  termed  conventional ;  for 
what  is  this  but  agreeing,  as  the  most  distinguished  have 
agreed,  to  regard  the  unalterable,  the  indispensable,  as  the 
best  ?  And  such  submission  always  turns  to  good  account. 

The  actor,  ever  shrouded  in  himself,  must  cultivate  his  in- 
most being  so  that  he  may  turn  it  outwards.  The  sense  of  the 
eye  he  may  not  flatter.  The  eye  easily  corrupts  the  judgment 
of  the  ear,  and  allures  the  spirit  from  the  inward  to  the  out- 
ward. It  is  by  meditation  continually  and  alone,  that  this  is  to 
be  effected.  It  is  not  by  groping  and  experiment  that  we  must 
satisfy  ourselves  for  critical,  but  practical  trial. 

The  theatre  must  obey  the  intrinsic  exigencies  of  art,  and 
the  nerve  and  power  of  the  writer ;  whereas  it  is  absurd  that 
art  and  genius  should  be  submitted  to  the  arbitrary  rules  of 
the  theatre. 

The  stage  is  a  place  where  genius  is  sure  to  come  upon  its 
legs  in  a  generation  or  two.  And  now,  never  in  the  history  of 
the  stage  were  such  magnificent  rewards  within  the  easy  grasp 
of  talent ;  never  were  there  such  multitudes  to  welcome  good 
acting.  The  dramatic  instinct  is  ineradicable ;  the  delight  in 
mimic  representation  is  primal  and  indestructible.  Let  an 
actor  appear  who  is  at  all  above  the  line,  and  the  people  flock 
to  the  theatre  as  they  never  flocked  before.  The  public  will 
rush  to  see  him,  because  the  mob  wish  to  see  any  one  about 
whom  the  world  is  talking,  and  the  intelligent,  because  always 
ready  to  welcome  genius.  His  art  furnishes  truly  one  of  the 
most  elegant  and  refined  entertainments  of  mankind. 


THE   END. 


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